


Survival of the Fittest

by sherwoodfox



Series: The Madman and the Worm [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-05-27 01:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15013379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherwoodfox/pseuds/sherwoodfox
Summary: Following the Promised Day, Envy and Kimblee both were in quite the pathetic condition- one, entirely without a body, and the other burned within inches of death. But they were still alive, weren't they? And if they were alive, there was always a way to move forward.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is directly related to my other piece 'Only Madmen Fall in Love with Worms', as the two are set in the same universe. If you would like to better understand the set-up for this relationship as it is portrayed here, please check that one out, but you do not need to read it in order to understand what is happening in this story. Enjoy.

Everything _hurt._

That was all that Envy could think. There was no compartmentalizing it- every cell and every fibre in their body was screaming, lit up with excruciating pain, a torture unlike anything else they had ever experienced in their very long life. Was this always what it felt like- being burned alive? No, it couldn't be- if they had been human, they would have been dead in seconds, dead so many times over by now. Dead and without sensation, unconnected to their body, immersed in the cool relief that was oblivion- lucky humans, being able to escape this, the horrible horrible pain and mortifying shame, being able to know that when their skin was being scorched and the juices in their eyeballs boiled and the marrow of their bones cooked like the filling of a pie that they would _die,_ and that they had only minutes of this experience before they were gone forever. But Envy wasn't human, and so they were still alive, with every physical aspect of them wishing desperately that they weren't. Underneath their last rational scrap of consciousness one prayer played in a loop like a broken record- _please let me die, please let me die, please let me die-_ and it was taking a strength they didn't know they possessed to hold on through it, to keep themself afloat above the feelings and aware of their surroundings. They couldn't give in to it- they needed to get away, needed to hide. There was no other alternative- they had already tried to fight (lost) and tried to deceive (failed) and now if they didn't get away Mustang was really going to kill them, slowly and horribly, and even though most of them wanted it to be over they knew that they couldn't die yet- and why was that again? They had made a plan, hadn't they? Yes, they had to get back to Kimblee. They had to find him. He had said he was going to give them something, when they came together again…

Envy stumbled into a more decrepit section of the Underground, the tunnel floor littered with rubble from a broken-in wall. Struck by inspiration they tried to transform into a brick, but the pull into their core for the energy to complete the task came up empty. Their Stone was too depleted to shapeshift. Vaguely they realized that they should have known that- the most recent rounds of burns hadn't healed at all; their skin was still melting, fat and blood made so hot it was searing their flesh from the inside out, hair so brittle it was turning to ash. They were barely held together, their true self slipping through the cracks- green scales adding to the mottled patchwork on their arms and thighs and fingers contorted into long black claws. No strength to heal, no strength to change, and so their only chance was to run away, hoping against hope that they could avoid Mustang in the labyrinth until Father got his plan underway. Hoping, pitifully, that Kimblee would come and save them.

They stumbled through the dark corridors as quietly as they could, ears straining for sounds of pursuit (thankfully, their hearing was still okay- Mustang hadn't targeted their ears specifically, as he had their eyes and tongue, they could barely see the way and the air tasted only of smoke), and at first the journey had been very rough going- every time they had heard the scrape of boots along the tunnel floors, or the muttering of a human voice, or the click of a gun they had frozen- paralyzed with terror- knowing that if whoever was out there saw them they would be completely defenceless. They didn't even think they would be able to beg- the flesh in their throat and lungs was incinerated and they could barely breathe- all of their energy was funnelled into maintaining this even slightly human form, and into the need to keep _moving._

After a while the pursuit became distant, and after a while longer it went away completely, leaving Envy alone in the cold and the dark. In their half-aware state they didn't understand this, didn't realize what it meant, and so they kept crawling through the Underground, half-mad from pain and panic. They heard distantly the rushing wails sucked in from above ground, and a great groan like the opening of the sky, and then the same screaming of souls but in reverse, then going away. They heard the explosions and felt the pounding of raw power pitted against itself, and perhaps they sensed somewhere in the back of their mind the deaths of their faraway siblings but none of it mattered. Envy had always been a little selfish, and so absorbed in their own pain and need to survive they hardly had the presence of mind to think deeply on what was going on around them, on what all the eerie, apocalyptic noises must surely mean. Their sense of orientation was also completely gone- if they had been more aware they would have tried to get out of the central Underground, tried to use some of the more secret tunnels, find a place where no one would find them.

As it was, the Promised Day was nearing its end when Envy stumbled out into sunlight, feeling the warmth of it uncomfortably on their skin. They were still in the Underground, they knew that- but the place had been somehow cracked open, the ceiling blown away, the air tainted with dust and summer wind. The world was silent, but strangely they didn't feel alone. There was something else in the room, some other presence, something inexplicable. It was as though a familiar voice was calling their name- from faraway, over windswept plains, and simultaneously whispering in their ear, held close and comfortable- but they heard nothing. A summon without sound. Had they been following this feeling all along? Perhaps. 

They made their way slowly over the broken stone floor to the origin of the call, feeling it grow in presence as they approached. It was difficult to see- through Envy’s fire-clouded eyes it looked like there was a patch of something red on the floor (blood? It wasn't dark enough), an even shape. Something pale wiggled in the center of the red, fleshlike, and Envy suddenly realized that there was _power_ there- red ichor, strength- and their feeble heart leapt at the thought. They knelt clumsily before the thing, their muscles giving out, inhaling the presence of the Philosopher’s Stone, raising one contorted talon in preparation to _pierce._

Envy wasn't aware of this, but the sight they made would be horrifying to any passing human. A tiny baby, laid out to sleep like an angel in the sun, being towered over by a disgusting demon with sharp claws and scales and twisted ashy skin. A perfect innocent being devoured by a monster. But the only one watching was very pleased by the sight- relieved, for they had listened to him, thankful they were alive, and also disconcertingly _concerned_ at their condition…

Envy’s claws shattered the body of the remnant Pride, sucking in the gleaming red liquid found there like a vampire. As the baby withered away into nothing their form started to restore- they flooded their most critical wounds with power, feeling waves of addictingly cool relief as their eyes cleared and their lungs expanded, muscles and organs starting to function again, _healing…_

The feeling was cut abruptly short, a tap turned off before the thirst could be quenched. There had been barely any Stone left in Pride- as proven by his appearance. Not enough to fully restore Envy. Barely enough to get their body back to even a semblance of working order. With their head now cleared, the pain from all the burns on their skin- all the more superficial wounds, the ones they could survive with- became heightened. Their flesh was still scorched and mottled, their hair broken off, deformities of their true self slipping through the cracks in their resolve. They were still in so much pain, and now they could see how _ugly_ they were, they had never been so humiliated in their _life…_

_It's alright, darling._

Envy started like a frightened cat, eyes wide in search of something they knew wasn't there, as the voice had come from the same place as the noiseless call before- it wasn't truly a voice, the term voice would imply sound, the words had come from somewhere inside Envy themself, like a thought- only they hadn't thought it. In a similar fashion they could now feel silent laughter blooming under their skin, winding through the cold blood in their veins; a memory, they knew this laugh, they _loved_ it…

“Kimblee?” They said out loud, their voice soft and toneless and raspy from the burn but still cutting in the empty air. 

_Yes, it's me._

They felt as though they could cry. It was such a relief to find him after all those hours of torturous, directionless wandering. A pain that they had thought might never end. They were very happy to hear (feel) his voice again, but even that could not waive the need for an explanation as to how he had come to be in such a state.

 _Quite the sorry-looking couple, aren't we?_ Kimblee murmured in their mind, and they could feel him starting to explore their body, his presence expanding in their core and slipping across their spine, running through their nervous system and making it tingle in their lips and the tips of their fingers. Little flutters of sensation flowed along the lines of their neck and stomach and thighs, like kisses. It was almost alarming. Envy had never heard of a soul in a Philosopher’s Stone having such control, such _presence_ in the host. Or had they? Was this what it had been like for Greed, with the Xing prince? Hadn't that been different? They didn't know. All they knew was that alongside the still-burning pain of their wounds Kimblee was trying to make them feel good, even though they had failed so much and ended up so ugly that they didn't really deserve it right now. He was too sweet, really, their human.

Envy coughed to clear their lungs and caught their bearings, reexamining with regrown vision their surroundings (something to do other than sit there like a puddle of goo while Kimblee telekinetically _fondled_ them), noticing now that the red patch where Pride had been lying was in fact a familiar object- the FullMetal Pipsqueak’s flashy jacket. Uh oh. If the brat had left it here, he was sure to come back, and who was he such good friends with again if not _the Flame Colonel himself-_

Envy stood rather abruptly, the pain of unbending their melted flesh sharp and hot and overpowering. They hissed through locked fangs, feeling Kimblee try to sooth them from within, and started making their way clumsily to the far side of the room- entrances there led to the eastern portion of the Underground, and with them, a chance of escape.

“Tell me why you’re _inside_ me,” Envy whispered (would have said, if they had been capable of proper speech), looking every part an escaped mental patient from a psych ward, with no hair and deformed skin and a penchant for talking to the voices in their head.

_Tell me why you're so badly burned._

Envy frowned at that, or would have, it hurt to move their face. “You first,” they hissed as the shadows of the still-intact tunnels closed over their head, the sunlight giving way to cold earth and heavy air. They felt Kimblee acquise, amused with them, and made their way slowly down through the paths they knew so well- out of the light, and into Hell, where both sinners and demons would be much safer.


	2. Chapter 2

_You need to rest._

Kimblee’s voice spread through Envy’s mind in a soft wave, accompanied by soothing sensations in their chest and underneath their chin, trying to comfort them into submitting. Envy shook him off, growling deep in their chest, refusing. The fear was still too great- even now, they could practically feel the fire on their skin, the shock and heat and incredible agony, and they knew if they were found it would happen again. There would be no escape- Colonel Firestarter would no doubt want to finish it. And if they were to die, Kimblee surely would too, and that was the last thing either of them wanted. They needed to escape, before they could rest, needed to get out of Central and very far away.

They knew he had a point, though. Ever since they had exited the Underground (through a manhole in the middle of a road, at a point where the tunnels had become impassable due to damage from the fighting) it had been getting harder to keep moving. Their throat was dry and their mouth sticky, all of their unhealed burns sending spikes of intense pain through their nervous system whenever they moved (or even, whenever they didn't). There weren't even any stories left to tell to distract them from it- back in the comforting dark Kimblee had told them of how Pride had figured it out and turned on him, _devoured_ him, too clever not to see through the plan to betray Father at the last second- cleverer, perhaps, than Father had been himself. And Envy had humiliatingly confessed to what they had done with the Flame Alchemist _(It was funny, and I thought it would rile him up a bit, make him more willing to fight, I didn't realize what he would do to me-)_ and now all there was left to think about was how much pain they were in, and how they had no idea what had happened during the Promised Day, and how if they didn't leave Central as soon as possible they were going to _die._

_Please, darling, listen to me...you’re going to hurt yourself-_

“Shut up, Kimblee,” they whispered to the empty alley they were crawling through, trying to ignore the stinging sensation as air passed over their still-scorched vocal chords. They knew they were disturbing him- they could almost feel it, somewhere in the back of their mind, perceptions of emotion that did not belong to them. They didn't really care. Surely, they were making progress, and every inch between them and the fire-wielder who had tortured them and murdered their sister was a victory in their mind. Oh, how they wished they had their power still- the Ultimate Disguise was more than just a costume, it was _accessibility,_ and freedom in its purest form. They could have been miles from here hours ago, if only they had a pair of wings, or a horse’s strong legs to run on. Perhaps they had under-appreciated it when it was there- thinking of such things now made them miserable. 

_Just for a few minutes. Drink something. You’re not healing like you’re supposed to-_

As his thoughts rang out again, Envy realized that Kimblee must be _worried,_ in a sense, trapped in the back of their head, able to see and hear what was happening but unable to do anything himself. Helpless. Images from his mind were conjured in faint flickers before their eyes- he would hold them, carry them even (as though he could), if he was still intact. It was kind of cute of him, but Envy wasn't going to listen, no, they were too stubborn and too afraid.

And stopping meant something else, too- it meant acknowledging fully the condition they were in, and they weren't sure if they could handle the humiliation of it as well as the pain. As they were now, with only enough energy in their core to keep their heart beating, they would heal as slowly as a human did. They might as well _be_ human, for all that they could do. Even their mind had been taken from them- it was so hard to think clearly when in this much pain, so hard to think at all…

In one trembling misstep Envy suddenly felt a wave of nausea rock their body, their vision blurring to grey as spikes of hot and cold cascaded through them, the feeling in their fingers and toes fading out. Prickles of pain crawled up their spine, flashing and popping in their vision as hundreds of tiny white lights. The world was hyper-exposed, a high clear note playing at one pitch in their ears, and their head suddenly felt so _heavy,_ and there was a thick weight in their stomach, they weren't sure anymore which way was up or down, or how they had managed to get where they were in the first place...

Vaguely, they could hear someone calling them- Kimblee, it must be, thank goodness- but his voice was coming from very far away, the end of a thousand-mile stone tunnel, and there was no way Envy could make out any words or even put forward the effort to answer him, they were just too _tired…_

Then the world went completely black, and Envy didn't think of anything.

...

“Envy?”

Kimblee called up into the darkness around him, trying to pick out Envy’s consciousness from the fragmented souls of their Stone. They were alarmingly absent- where their vision had been just seconds before there was blackness, and the soft stirrings of their thoughts had gone entirely quiet.

“Envy, please answer me.”

They weren't responding. Had they fainted? Please, let it just be that, let them wake again soon. How strange and eerie it was inside them now, with no light or thought or sound. And how unpleasantly without control he was.

After they had taken him in, he had been able to see and hear and feel as they did much more easily than from within Pride (perhaps, because they had wanted him there), and so he had clearly understood the severity of their condition. The pain from their burns had flickered in the edges of his consciousness like candles, little spikes of discomfort that were surely incomparable to the inferno that was reality. And they had been so stubborn, refusing to take care of their body even as it was falling apart around them- not that Kimblee could really talk, thinking of it now he probably would have behaved much the same. It had been alright, though. Despite his concern and his own unfortunate circumstances (entirely without a body, reduced to a consciousness inside of a whirlpool of mindless energy), it had been nice to be with them again, to know that if nothing else they were together and could take care of each other that way.

But now, Envy had become silent, and there was nothing Kimblee could do.

It was a terrifying feeling. The blackness around him seemed huge, much bigger and emptier without the presence of their consciousness. What was going on outside? He had no way of knowing, no way of moving forward, no way of protecting Envy should something find them while they slept. If they were just sleeping- the damage to their body had been _very_ extensive, what if they couldn't keep going anymore, what if they never woke up and instead just dissolved into nothing like charcoal in the wind-

Kimblee quieted his thoughts, a feeling similar to taking a deep breath only without lungs or air to fill them. The red Stone shining around and behind him was still there, the lost souls with their gaping mouths and empty eyes still writhing in their damnation. Envy wasn't dying. At the very least he could be certain of that. But they were still helpless and entirely alone out there, in a world that didn't want them, and Kimblee was stagnated here.

Unwillingly, he was reminded of his cell. 

No, he mustn’t think like that. 

He focused on Envy’s glimmering core, the red light that contained the essence of their being, their “soul”- though one of the distinctions between humans and homunculi was that the latter apparently possessed no such thing. If he could do nothing here but wait, then wait he would. It was something he had become very skilled with over the years. Though it ached in his heart to return to that state of mind, he would tell himself the same thing he had every day in prison- just be patient, they’ll be back again soon.

He could only hope it was true.


	3. Chapter 3

Something clicked, a switch flicked back on or a weight-trap triggered, and suddenly the world came flooding back in an abrupt crescendo of light and colour and noise, so much that it almost hurt- no, it did hurt, everything hurt, and someone was _shouting_ out there…

“Hey! Get over here quick- I don't- I don't _know-”_

A young man’s voice. Envy tried to open their eyes, but the lids were sealed shut with dried fluid (pus? Or blood? They were so _disgusting_ right now) and all of their joints were locked up from lying in the awkward position they had fallen in. Fallen- oh, oh no, that was very bad- how long had they been asleep? Had _he_ found them?

_Welcome back._

Kimblee’s voice in their head was not soothing, though it was welcome, and that boy was still shouting, calling for help. Why? Did he know who- or what- they were? Other footsteps approached, other voices, and in a sudden panic Envy wrenched their sticky eyes open and tried to push themself up with trembling arms, their entire body screaming in protest, Kimblee silent and apprehensive in the back of their mind.

“In God’s name- look, he's alive-”

Envy’s dry gaze flicked up to meet the speaker and they were met with brown skin and red eyes; a youth in dirty clothing with the marks of Ishvalan breeding. They could feel Kimblee stir inside them like a snake, his natural curiosity raised, and Envy tried to make a noise but nothing came out. Other Ishvalan men were coming from a door down the alleyway, exiting what they guessed was a warehouse (they had gotten to the shipping district somehow, without knowing) and gathered around them with expressions of horror; a squashed bug on the sidewalk, was that what they were? That _stung,_ to be looked down on like this-

“Quick,” said one of the older men, and the others turned to face him, his bearing that of a leader. He began pointing at those gathered, each in turn, doling out tasks with the efficiency of a factory manager. “Get some water. Find a blanket, or something that can be used as a stretcher. Check, do we have any medical supplies left?”

_It seems they’re trying to save you,_ murmured Kimblee, tendrils of his presence arching up their spine and around their neck, like a caress. _How ironic._

The boy who had found them returned first with the water, and helped the order-master try to get Envy into a sitting position, bringing the mouth of a bottle to their lips. The flesh of human palms stung where they were touched, but they accepted the water eagerly, sucking it down as they had Pride’s core back in the Underground.

“What happened to him?” said the Ishvalan boy, his eyes wide and horrified and pitying. The man had a dark look on his face- concentrated, his brow furrowed, eyes fixated on Envy’s miserable and trembling form. They didn't know what that meant.

_Perhaps he recognizes the handiwork._

Had they not been in so much pain they might have giggled at that- he was certainly old enough, wasn't he, to remember the Flame Alchemist in Ishval. If he did, then perhaps Envy had a chance here. An _angle._ A chink in the wall to aim for.

The other men (younger, most of them, than the one who acted as their leader) returned swiftly with a large swath of tarp from inside the warehouse, laying it out on the ground and touching them gingerly, trying to roll them onto the semi-clean material as gently as possible. Envy obeyed- there was nothing else that could be done, not in this condition.

“We have some bandages,” said one of the Ishvalans as Envy was settled into the center of the tarp. “But that's not good enough. We need to take him to a hospital.”

The sound of that made the pit of their stomach tighten up again, anxiety breaking out in painful spikes along their back. _That's not a good idea,_ said Kimblee, and they very much agreed- an Amestrian hospital was not a safe place for them, not a safe place at all. With one stiff arm they tried to wave at the man who had made the suggestion, breathing coming out thick and raspy from their throat, like air in a clogged drain.

“N... _no_ …” they hissed, shaking their malformed head, the simple gesture cracking open scabs that had formed in their sleep (that still scared them, they didn't know how long it had been, how could they not _know-_ ) and the oldest Ishvalan seemed to understand, fixing them again with his too-intent gaze.

“No hospital?” he said, his voice gentle, and he nodded along with Envy as they tried to reaffirm their stance, his nostrils flaring in thought. The others all faced him, expectant, not one questioning the why of the matter until he spoke; _well-trained dogs,_ purred Kimblee, _I remember that about them._

“We all understand the need to hide,” said the man, his gaze kinder now. His palms trailed through the air around Envy’s body, hovering over the sections of skin where their true shape was showing through, glimmers of green scales under grey human skin. They wondered what he thought. “We’ll take you back to our camp, instead. Our medicine woman will care for you- and we won't ask anything you are unwilling to answer. Is that better?”

Envy nodded weakly, trying to portray an image of meek gratitude, and they were pondering what sort of character to forge when one of the younger men spoke up, his uncertain voice seeming to surprise everyone in the group (Kimblee included, as they could feel in the warm place underneath their lungs).

“But he’s- we don't even know who he is-” he sputtered, shuffling his feet, and the leader fixed him with a stern look, like a wolf facing down an errant pup.

“He’s a child of Ishvala in need of help,” he said, his tone firm and decisive as he stood. “That is all we need to know.”

With a gesture from him the other men started to pick up the sides of the tarp- and now Envy could see clearly the intention, they were to be carried this way, but they knew it wouldn't work. They inhaled painfully, wondering how best to inform the Ishvalans of the problem (or if they even should, let the fools try and deal with it on their own), and with one firm and organized pull from the men they were lifted-

-what-

-the feeling was like having their insides drop out, the alarm and sickening fear hitting them with the force of a train. In their head, they could feel Kimblee’s shock as well, as clearly as they felt their own, piercing in presence. This was very wrong.

No one should be able to lift them this way.

There was a reason why the national safety code for stairs and elevators in Amestris had such high weight requirements. There was a reason why the upper floors in every government building were fortified enough to support something with the average mass of a tank. Father had designed the country that way- after all, how convincing could a deception be, if the deceiver couldn't walk on the upper story of a house without falling through the floor?

If these simple Ishvalan men could lift Envy with nothing but their arms, then something was very seriously wrong, and this knowledge made their skin crawl.

“No one here will hurt you,” said the old man, mistaking the origin of their distress, and Envy could do nothing but stare at him. Something was missing, and they didn't know how or what or why and the uncertain feeling was wriggling over their skin like a plague of insects.

_Perhaps the rest of you was burned away,_ said Kimblee, and the soft (almost pitying) way that he said it made Envy want to cry, but their tear ducts were too scorched to complete the task. _If you cannot change, then perhaps this is now your maximum mass,_ he added, and they could hear the scientific mind in him activating, whirring to life like a machine, drifting away from the realities and emotions of the situation. He had always been so interested in their abilities- genuinely interested, _fascinated_ even, and in the past that curiosity had been more charming to them than any base human flirtation. But right now they didn't really want to hear it. They didn't want him to tell them that everything was wrong, even if they knew it was, and knew that hiding from it wouldn't make it better. Kimblee may be a man of science, capable of clear rationality and the disconnection of the heart, but Envy could never be that way- they felt things, they felt _everything,_ from joy to sadness to fear with the strength of a storm, and it often ripped them apart inside.

With some awkward shuffling the Ishvalans were able to take Envy in their makeshift stretcher within the cool belly of the warehouse, but they barely noticed what was happening, so overwhelmed as they were with their own misery. It was only when they were set to rest in the back of a truck (a beaten, dirty old vehicle, with more rust than original metal) that they stirred, wondering for the first time properly why the people of the desert were in Central in the first place.

They were gathering things, boxes and papers and traveling supplies- what was it, on that large sheet they were folding? A map? A transmutation circle? Even, perhaps, only a single transmutation point? They had heard that Ishvalans had been creeping into Central in the days before the eclipse. Ah yes, now they remembered more clearly, standing before the great double doors in the Underground, at the time smug and satisfied and pleased to see such a strong fighting force before them. Strong enough to defeat Father. Strong enough, as it had turned out, to defeat them.

(‘But still, it looks like you guys really showed them who’s boss- the FullMetal Alchemist and the Flame Alchemist. In addition, Scar.’)

So maybe that’s how it was. Maybe these men were working with him- and that thought made them uncomfortable again, they certainly didn't want to run into Scar in this condition. But what was to be done of it? They could barely move; all of the walking from before, through the dark and ruined tunnels and then through the winding backstreets of Central, had exhausted them. Their injuries were too great. If anyone found them now, hell, even one of Kimblee's stupid chimeras, they could very well be done for. It was horrifying, but suddenly they were having trouble feeling horrified anymore, as though they were simply too tired to work up the energy to stress over it.

_Are you going to go to sleep again?_

Kimblee’s thoughts were gentle, but apprehensive, his presence suddenly stronger, tighter and more controlling. He clearly didn't want that- and Envy understood, it must have been horrible for him when they had collapsed, and they knew they shouldn't close their eyes when in such a precarious position but they couldn't help it, lying down here had made them so sleepy…

“M’sorry,” they mumbled to the man in their mind, trying to shift around on the rough surface of the tarp and wake themself, but even that pain was starting to become dull in its constance, too continuous and unending to spark new lights in their nervous system.

_No...you do need to rest._

The Ishvalans were putting away their little camp in the warehouse, packing away bags into their dusty vehicles with calm efficiency, preparing to disappear from this place like so many desert wraiths. One of them brought Envy a blanket, tucking it gingerly around their destroyed form, and the effect of it only made the weight on their eyelids increase.

_I just wish I could watch over you._

Envy almost smiled, their lips twitching with the shadow of the motion, the pain and deformity in their melted cheeks making the full range of the gesture impossible.

“Sweet,” they whispered, their voice barely more than a sigh. “Make you one...make a new bo...dy..."

And with that thought finished they fell into unconsciousness for the second time that day, their mind slipping away into dark crevices where no light nor sound nor touch could reach them.


	4. Chapter 4

Envy woke again when the Ishvalan's truck left the city, the rumbling rhythm of street traffic changing into the clunk and growl of a dirt road, an unused place where the trees were thick and little rocks pinged as they were kicked up under the tires. They peeled open their eyes, making a weak moaning sound as they did so, and were quickly hushed by one of the men sitting in the back with them.

“It's alright, brother,” he said, reaching into a bag at his side, “We’ll be there soon.” 

And where was there? An Ishvalan camp, they supposed. They flicked their dry eyes up to the sky instead of acknowledging him, vaguely surprised to see that the light was deeply slanted, the few clouds present stained pink and orange by a nearly setting sun. 

_We must have been traveling for a few hours,_ said Kimblee. _I'm glad you slept well._

There was something a little mischievous in the colour of his thoughts, perhaps he was teasing them. Their human could be so _bold,_ couldn’t he? They tried to purr (literally, in this form they could produce a low rumbling sound in their chest) to show that they appreciated it without words; things couldn't be so bad if there was room for humour.

The man who had spoken to them pulled out a canteen of water, which Envy wanted, and the next few minutes were filled with an awkward and undignified struggle as they tried to get into a seated position in the bouncing car and accept the drink without spilling it. The liquid soothed their insides some, but at the end of it a new pain began, the water waking their belly and reminding it that they were very empty and did not have enough Stone to waive the problem. How humiliating it was, to be reduced to such base needs, but it would be even more humiliating to turn back into the worm and so retaining their current malformed shape was where all of their energy was being directed. That, and not dying, in general.

Suddenly, the truck veered off the dirt road and into the brush, plowing over a field with surprisingly tenacity and even more alarming noises and bumps. The violent movement made Envy’s too-light body flop around in the back, burn scabs ripping open, and they whined involuntarily. Annoyance bubbled under their skin even as the vehicle slowed, pulling to a stop in a place they couldn't quite see over the lip of their compartment. Why couldn't these people live somewhere easier to _get_ to?

_It's almost as though you tossed them from their homeland, and made them fugitives of the state._

Too sassy, their human was.

On the subject of humans, voices were calling out from around the truck, women and children and other, older men. They had arrived, then. The men who had been driving with them hopped out of the truck and pulled down the back of it, reaching up to wrap them in the blanket and tarp like an overdone sausage in pastry.

“Quick,” said someone, and Envy thought they recognized the voice as that of the leader in this particular group, “Take him to Amala."

Envy took note of the name, holding onto it in their head in case of future need. They had always been very good at remembering names, and faces- it had been an important part of their job, before the Promised Day.

The Ishvalans rushed Envy through the camp, small groups of women and children parting around them like water, their wide eyes reflecting the urgency in the men’s gestures- perhaps these people thought they were on the brink of death, only seconds away from their last breath; they certainly looked bad enough for that. It was hard to see much of the camp from this position, prone and wrapped in a tarp, but it seemed bigger than they had first assumed, makeshift tents and camouflaged vehicles forming lines in the muddy field. 

_Ishvalans proliferate like rats,_ said Kimblee in a cool tone, _there’s always more of them than one expects._

All too soon their view was blocked by the rough hemp interior of a tent, their body rested gently- but still painfully- on the earthen floor. This place seemed larger than the few little tents they had glimpsed on the way- it was filled with cardboard boxes and glass jars, strange plant-like smells they couldn't fully identify in their current state permeating the air. There was even room for a tin basin off to one side. As they absorbed this visual information soft human footsteps sounded, the shuffle of fabric indicating a newcomer’s approach.

“What's this?” The voice came from an old Ishvalan woman, with thick white hair and an ancient, withered face. Amala, they supposed, and when the men peeled back the tarp to reveal their condition her expression puckered with shock.

“We found him this way in Central,” offered one of the men who had carried them there, his hands hovering uncertainly over their mangled flesh. “We’re not sure what happened- he doesn't talk well-”

The woman waved away his explanations with the same authority as the man from before, and even more similarly began handing out tasks, her own hands reaching for the contents of the cardboard boxes.

“Farid, fill the bath, we need to get him clean. Naril, Raad, take off his clothes, gently if you can.” From inside the box she pulled even more of the jars, seemingly repurposed preserve containers, filled with strangely coloured concoctions and labeled with indecipherable symbols. 

_I wonder if this is what Ishvalans consider medicine,_ murmured Kimblee, and Envy internally cringed, they had been around long enough to see all kinds of bizarre ‘treatments’ from uncivilized human groups. Not that they would have enjoyed more advanced Western medicine, either, with its obsessions of surgery and needles and chemicals in the blood. The idea of medicine was simply repulsive in general; their natural mechanisms were so much more elegant. All the more reason to regret their big mouth. 

The two men started peeling off the destroyed remainders of their ‘clothing’, the fine black substance coming loose only to dissolve to ash in their hands, the sight seeming to surprise the men only slightly. Even more mass lost, and they resented that, sullenly refusing to help as they were worked awkwardly out of their ‘shirt’. The fresh skin underneath was still damaged, but slightly less so, the outer layer taking the initial brunt of the burn. Watching parts of themself disintegrate was disgusting- in a paranoid way, they could almost feel their body getting lighter, as if it would become weightless and float up to the ceiling. They hated this, hated being this way, hated being in such a pitiful position; as the last of the false-fabric crumbled into dust from around their hips they whimpered, weak, unable to hold back a little sob from the feeling. At the sound one of the men (Naril, they would have guessed) looked up, and then back down between their legs, and suddenly he yelped, his hands shooting away from where they had been gingerly placed around Envy’s thighs, as though suddenly he was the one with the burns. And then the other one, Raad, did the same, both of the men’s eyes now looking over their head at the far tent wall as if the sight of them was too much for their minds. Were they really that disgusting like this? What was the _problem?_

_Oh...oh, I think I know what this is._

“Sorry!” said Naril. “Sorry, sorry, we couldn't tell, we’ll- we’ll go-”

Amala was upon them suddenly with the force of an eagle, surprisingly spry as she smacked the young men over their shoulders, hustling them out of the tent in a bustle of heavy cloth and long white hair.

“Send me my girls,” she said brusquely when they were out. “Cleanse yourselves later.”

Envy could hear them shuffling away, and watched as Amala accepted water for the basin in the corner, refusing to let the bearer in. The whole situation was almost comically bizarre, from the hawklike flapping of the old woman to the strange fear that had overcome the men. Perhaps the reaction would have alarmed them- why would the Ishvalans display such horror? Had they been in some way found out?- but in their core Kimblee was _laughing,_ chuckling to himself at both the scene and their confusion, and it was just enough to put them at ease again.

 _As I recall,_ he said, his thoughts coloured brightly with his amusement, _Ishvalan culture has some rather strict regulations regarding sex._

Envy had known that of course, they had worked there during the extermination (and deception required knowledge of the deceived), but they didn't understand. Young women were now rushing into the tent, with concerned eyes and soft hands, under Amala’s guide helping the embarrassingly bare and mottled homunculus into the basin filled with cool water that lapped at their skin.

_Surely you do. From a human perspective, having nothing ‘down there’ looks an awful lot more like the feminine side of things._

Oh.

Now Envy wanted to laugh, too. What silly creatures, these humans were.

They were sure that the little rasps of air coming from their throat were mistaken for exclamations of pain from the Ishvalan women, who shushed them and moved even more delicately, rinsing their destroyed skin with the water. It stung, and in a way it almost itched, which Envy didn't like but there was something so _funny_ about how the men had acted that they felt absolutely delirious, and they couldn't help themself. Too many different emotions too fast and too strong, from fear to despair to hysteria, they were like a rubber band pulled tight and then released repeatedly. After so many snaps the elastic had to give way and become weak, _strange,_ mind not able to keep up so clearly, and the sheer ridiculousness of their situation was hitting them in full force only now- 

-poor, sad, silly little demon who doesn't know when to shut up, being taken care of by the same race of idiot humans you destroyed, and now your boyfriend is a backseat driver in your own _head-_

After the bath, with the grime from the Underground and excess dead flesh washed away, they found themself feeling surprisingly better. And the clear, gelatinous ointment that the women were now rubbing over their burns didn't smell or feel as bad as they had thought it would- it even seemed to cool the fire where it touched, though just a little. 

“I don't know if we’ll have enough,” said Amala at one point, likely referring to the burn treatment. “Back home I’ll be able to make more...we’ll need to get there soon…”

Though the younger girls attended her words, it seemed she was speaking to herself. One of those sorts of humans, with both enough power and mental weirdness to behave as such. But as for what she had said- the thought of an Ishvalan slum was vaguely exciting, both to Kimblee and themself. A bit of mischief, perhaps, to be had. And such mischief was what they lived for, wasn't it?

When their body was slick and soothed from the ointment, and the women had wrapped them in another, softer, cleaner blanket, and more water and a bit of soft bread had been brought and consumed Amala sent the other girls away and sat with them, her strong Ishvalan eyes on their face.

“I know you wish to rest, sister,” she said, and Envy thought that was a lovely idea even though Kimblee was rolling his eyes in their head- “but I have a few questions. You needn't fear answering.”

Envy nodded slowly from inside their blanket, trying to put on a look of innocent concern, unsure if their destroyed face was capable of emoting the way they used to. Amala smiled, reassuring- after all, they were just a poor girl who had been in a horrific accident, weren't they? 

“What's your name?” she asked. Envy swallowed thickly before replying.

“Emily,” they whispered, making their voice weaker than they suspected it could be. Amala nodded, accepting this, and licked her lips.

“Can you explain at all what happened to you?”

Envy made a show of trembling, gears turning in their mind behind their delicate expression. “A man…” they mumbled, “Military...I don't know why…”

Let them plant that seed in her head. No doubt she would put two and two together, she had certainly lived through the war, and would be sympathetic. Even if Mustang could say he was fighting for Ishval now, even if he could say he regretted his actions, how many would believe him? Humans were resentful and treacherous things, they knew, they exploited that fact often enough. Her gaze softened (bullseye) but as she opened her mouth again it seemed the next question on her lips was more difficult to get out.

“You’re a... _chimera,_ aren't you?” she was looking at their contorted hands, the word foreign on her tongue, her mind no doubt lingering on the scales in their patchwork skin. What a clever little human! Handing them a perfect false identity on a silver platter. How had she come to know of such things? Scar had some chimera pets, didn't he? Ah yes, and these Ishvalans had been working with him. How fortunately things were coming into place.

They gave the old woman a gentle nod, blinking too rapidly, their image fearful from made-up previous abuse and uncertain of her reaction. A harmless victim, a tragic little thing. How deliciously far from the truth.

“We’ll take care of you,” said Amala gently. “We of all peoples know what it means to be outcast.”

‘Emily’ bobbed their head and let their eyelids flutter closed, for weren't they just too exhausted to keep moving? As Amala turned away to reorganize her jars they could hear her muttering to herself in the same self-speak tone as before, something about ‘a lizard, or maybe a snake’ and they almost laughed.

_Very well done, darling. I've a feeling things will be better in no time._


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days passed in a bleary mixture of sleep, baths, treatments and traveling. The Ishvalans were moving East, slipping through farmers’ back fields and ancient, forgotten roads, following maps of uncharted routes and places. Though their tortuously slow healing made them often miserable and waspish, they could feel things beginning to improve. Every meal, every moment of waking after a long rest, was having a compounded effect on their health in a way that they hadn't really considered possible- when one could recover instantly from death, anything else seemed like a conceptual infinity, and it was surprising to them to see results so soon (Kimblee told them they were healing faster than a human would- and what a relief that was! The notion made them feel a little more like themself again). Within a week they could walk semi-comfortably on their own, wandering about the temporary encampments wearing long and billowy Ishvalan robes, their bald and mottled head covered in a wide-brimmed hood. They made quite the perfect little ghost in their condition, slipping delicately between the lives of the Ishvalans with their feeble demeanour and weak voice. It was only in part an act, but the disguise known as ‘Emily’ started to become well-known in the camp, greeted with warm smiles, offers of assistance, and even occasionally small tasks- ‘hold this for a moment, would you’, ‘help me put these away, if it isn't too much for you’. Amala was entirely comfortable with them now, and occasionally she prompted them to speak more of their past and the events leading up to their injuries; Envy gave vague responses, talking in tongues of experimental laboratories and men in white coats and cages, and a strange dark-haired military officer with flames at his fingertips coming to destroy everything. It was an easy lie- the most realistic stories were the ones based in truth, and everything they said they had genuinely witnessed themself in some way or another. It was clear from her behaviour that she believed them entirely, and it seemed that Envy was well on their way to being indoctrinated into the Ishvalan clan. As the days went on they became more and more comfortable, certain they were headed away from Central and the mess they had left behind there, and (though this was a bitter double-edged sword) increasingly sure that even if they were to be found by someone they would be unrecognizable. Though Kimblee still spoke sweetly to them, they hated their disfigured appearance nearly as much as they hated their true self, knowing miserably that though they might feel better now it would be a long time before they could be considered pretty again by anyone. Thinking of it now was depressing, and so instead they tried to amuse themself with their surroundings, absorbing the strange customs and mannerisms of the foolish Ishvalan tribe. The ridiculous backwardness of their uncivilized culture was fascinating. The incredible faith these people had- in their God, in the trustworthiness of the people around them, in the knowledge that everything would work out well- bordered on disgusting, and perhaps if it didn't make them want to laugh so much it would have made them vomit. 

But not everything in the camp resembled some kind of ideological human paradise- not all was brotherhood and sisterhood and holding hands singing 'tra-la-la.' There was one tent that was always set up far away from the others when evening came, a dirty and worn thing that looked somehow even more ragged and misused than the rest of the Ishvalan’s constructs. No one ever helped the inhabitant of that tent set up or pack away, no one ever went by to inquire about the health or well-being of the person living there, who they had spotted only occasionally emerging from his hiding hole. When traveling the person (who they guessed, from their understanding of human posture, was a middle-aged man) lagged behind, covering his face with his hood and not speaking to anyone and not being spoken to. Ostracized. It was a splendid joke; for lack of much else to do, they found themself wanting to know how Envy, the liar, murderer, and destroyer of civilizations was receiving kinder treatment at the hands of these Ishvalans than one of their own people. 

One day, when receiving their dinner fare (a bland curry with a small serving of brown rice) they asked about it, pointing curiously to the tent, pretending to be concerned for the person living there, who never came by at regular times for meals. 

“Isn't he hungry?” they said, pitching their voice to be sweet and soft (looking like this they needed to lay the charm on pretty thick in order to be appealing), but the young man they had been speaking to darkened in expression, turning away. “No, he's fine. Don't worry about him.” was the response, and it only served to pique Envy’s curiosity even more. And when they asked around, prodding people of all sorts for other angles, the responses were much the same- no one wanted to talk about the strange man in the tent, all they were given was discouragement from thinking of it further. How fascinating.

_Perhaps we’ll have to pay him a visit,_ said Kimblee, and they could tell he liked the idea- not necessarily because it was very interesting to him personally, but because _they_ wanted to do it, and they were sure they were much nicer to be around when engaged in something and not wallowing in pain and self-pity. 

That evening, when the night was swallowing the last rays of the sun and the Ishvalan traveling band had settled down for the night, Envy wrapped themself in their heavy robes and slipped out of Amala’s tent, the pretext of needing fresh air ready on their tongue in case anyone noticed them- but no one did.

A light was on inside the outcast’s tent, its presence swollen and flickering against the ragged exterior, signs of life in the small and barren-seeming corner where the man had settled himself. When Envy knocked on one of the tent’s supporting poles, the sound small and secretive in the night air, something thumped within- easily startled, was he? Kimblee chuckled in their head.

“Excuse me?” Envy poked open the flap on the front of the tent, blinking wide eyes and lathering their image in meek reservedness, as Emily, after all, was very shy.

“Um, h-hello. I'm sorry if I’m interrupting,” they added, and the sight they saw inside the tent made them want to burst out laughing.

The mysterious loner was nothing more than a little old man, between 50 and 60 years of age, they would guess. He was small and withered and weak, a person who looked as though he had lived too harshly and with far too few comforts for far too long. His red eyes were small and watery, his chin weak, and his Ishvalan dress old and fraying at the seams. A pitiful creature. His abode was pitiful as well- an overstuffed and ragged knapsack was tossed off to one side, smudged with dirt and poorly patched. Spilling from an old cardboard box were papers with scribbled writing on them, and a thin mat served as a sleeping space in one corner. But amidst all the decay something caught their eye- a framed photograph of a woman, rested respectfully on a little mound of cloth, the metal exterior and glass both shining from recent polishing. A precious thing for certain- they would be sure to ask about that. 

“What do you want?” asked the man, his jaw quivering, his voice as pathetic as the rest of him. With a demure attitude to conceal the fact that they hadn't been invited, Envy slipped into the tent and sat down, folding their hands on their knees and bowing their head.

“I just wanted...to meet you. My name is Emily. Your countrymen have been taking care of me…”

As they spoke they were careful not to reveal too much of their face. It was very possible he didn't know what had become of them, hadn't heard of the tragically burned chimera-girl in the camp, so secluded was he from day-to-day dealings. They didn't want him to be disturbed by their appearance- as they were now, they were repulsive, all thick melted flesh and bumpy gray-green scales. But he only shook his head, loose jowls quivering, mouth still partly open from the shock, it seemed, of having someone talk to him.

“I'm Yamin…um, nice to meet you.” His conversational skills stopped there. This was fun, teasing this idiot creature, they should have come sooner.

"Maybe it isn't my place…” Envy murmured, licking their lips as though they were the nervous one, “but I wanted to know...no one will tell me why you’re so alone out here.”

Having said the question they looked down, wishing they could imitate a blush, pretending to be ashamed at their own forwardness. A battle of the meek! Kimblee was laughing in their mind.

“Oh...I guess you wouldn't know.” He rubbed the back of his head, running veined fingers through balding white hair, shuffling around his tiny room to compulsively straighten his meagre piles of trash, as if he was offending them somehow with the mess. 

“I'm...well, the kind of thing I do...it's not very well-regarded in our culture. You’re Amestrian, right? So you wouldn't understand, but…”

He offered Envy a weak little smile.

“I'm an alchemist.”

…

Oh, my. 

What a lucky little thing they were.

The shock of those words sent a wave of warm excitement down their spine, a feeling of bright lights and sudden triumph, sweet as a hundred victories, like a present for a child on a holiday morning. It seemed that the universe adored them.

Keeping the wicked joy out of their face as they replied was difficult, masking their raw emotions in the delicate and tender facade. But they knew exactly how to progress from here- ‘Emily’ knew a few things about alchemy, didn't she? She had grown up around some alchemists, she would _respect_ and _understand_ this little man, she would make him feel like he was important and like he belonged. In no time he would be wrapped around their fingers, practically _begging_ to do their bidding- this was what they did, they were an _expert_ in the field. Their prospects now were better than ever. They just needed one more thing- one more weak spot. In the corner of their eye, the photograph gleamed.

“Oh, really?” they said, offering him a sweet smile, bright and interested and happy to have common ground. “That's amazing. I know a little bit about alchemy, but I never learned how to do it, not really.”

They pretended to start, looking down at their hands, as though suddenly sobered. 

“But I guess it never brought you much happiness.”

Yamin shrugged, fiddling now with his clothes, unsure of how to hold himself. “Well, I chose to pursue it. Alchemy has such potential...I could do such good, if the others would learn to accept it, but…” He sighed and offered them a shrug. So he was that kind of person, was he? Blaming others for his lack of initiative, accepting his self-induced status at the bottom of the ladder without even trying to reach higher rungs. A weak, worthless kind of person. They would suck him dry and toss away the husk like the trash that he was.

“What kind of alchemy do you study?” they asked, and he perked up, no doubt flattered to meet someone interested in him, possibly for the first time in his entire life- though wait, there was still that _picture-_

“Oh- practical stuff, really. I would like to fix things with my gifts- and heal others too. I mean-” he broke himself off, swallowing back what he wanted to say, perhaps thinking it was blasphemy. “I think,” he said slowly, having gathered himself, “that if Ishvala gave humans these abilities, we should use them, you know?”

Envy nodded sweetly, validating his pointless rhetoric, enjoying the look of trust and relief in his eyes as they agreed with him. He was really cringy, wasn't he, he made their skin crawl- blabbing on about his ‘gifts’, his selflessness in wanting to help others, get lost. He couldn't be even half-rate, looking at the state of his living quarters. But no matter- they could work with it. Healing alchemy, he had said? That was just perfect. 

“Would you show me some? Some alchemy, I mean?” they asked, shy and innocent again, amused at the open look of shock and excitement in his face.

“Of course!” he replied, reaching eagerly for his papers, pulling out chalk and notes on circles in a trembling rush. “What would you like me to do?”

_An excellent question,_ purred Kimblee. _What would we have him do?_

Start with the basics, Mr. Crimson Alchemist, and work your way up. It's fun watching fools dance.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the following weeks, Envy spent much time visiting Yamin in his private and lonesome little world, sinking their claws into his heart and leaving strings there, ready to be tugged into motion. They made him do parlour tricks, reshaping dirt and wood into pleasant shapes, patching the inside of his tent and sealing cracked glass. They offered him a double-front, letting him believe he was the expert and that they knew very little, while also suggesting new techniques and insights to improve his skills and expand his mind to greater heights. Kimblee was a marvellous help inside their head- ultimately, he knew more of alchemy than they did, and their little project was entertaining to him. 

In nearly an exact month from the botched Promised Day the Ishvalans arrived at their home base, a large gathering of tents and small plaster houses in a forest of the East, a few miles north of a low-level mining town. Envy found themself begrudgingly admiring the skills the Ishvalans had in hiding- they didn't think even Father had known about this place, and even if he had he probably underestimated the sheer quantity of people living there. Kimblee was right- it seemed that no amount of war or exile could stop these people from breeding like spring rabbits. The place was tightly packed with human bodies, the streets little more than alleyways with laundry lines and baskets strewn across them, the majority of the populace young and wide-eyed and dirty. The travelers though, for the most part seemed happy to be rejoined with their ‘loved ones’ and rest in a place of their making again- only Yamin had no visitors, no overjoyed grandchildren and cousins and friends, and his intensified loneliness made him even more deliciously easy to dig into. They realized that he had been brought with the expedition to Central for his alchemical expertise regarding the transmutation points set up by Scar (and, probably, cursed Hohenheim); they had known that _he_ was a hypocrite, of course, using alchemy to kill alchemists for trespassing against God, but it seemed that the trait ran through Ishvalan culture in general, and they both loved and hated that knowledge simultaneously. 

As Amala had said, it was easy for her and her women to make more of the burn treatment gel from within the slum, and so Envy’s physical condition improved steadily. It wasn't long before their skin was no longer raw, the open wounds soothed and sealed by thick and lumpy scar tissue. Apparently, their recovery was miraculous, though they were still horrendously disfigured, and would be for the rest of their life (according to Amala). They suspected it was true- without any alchemical intervention their body would only heal so much, and a human put through the same stress would never look as they did before the burns ever again. At times this was discouraging; they found themself missing most their hair, which they had always privately thought was one of their cutest traits, replaced now as it was by a thick and discoloured bald skull where no hair could ever grow again. But none of that really mattered- such things weren't really permanent, not to them (or so they told themself).

One night they were visiting Yamin, his spirits high and his expression pure, for he had managed to light a fire in a wastebasket in his home using alchemy. It was a weak little thing and had been born of too many attempts, but he was still ridiculously proud of it, and they made a point of being overjoyed for him, clapping their hands and praising him to heaven and beyond. In truth the strong light of alchemical fire was bothering them, making their skin feel hot, and his childish amusement was a little sickening. They wanted to change the subject- in his current state, Yamin trusted them completely, they had become his dearest companion in only a matter of weeks. Tonight, he was happy, his mind soaked in the honey of his victory over the waste basket, and they could feel the time was ripe for the next stage of their little ‘relationship’.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” they said sweetly once the man had settled down, his lack of social skill creating a pause in the flow of the conversation. “That woman in your photograph...I don't think I’ve seen her around.”

They paused there, eyes on his face to gauge his reaction, pleased when they saw his smile droop, a touch of something sad slipping into the angle of his shoulders and the tilt of his head. Lovely, that was exactly what they had been hoping for- clearly, he had loved that woman, and she was dead. He wouldn't react that way if it were anything else- only dead lovers created devotion, if she had left him he would resent her.

“That's, uh, Karyme. She...she was my wife.” Even better! He looked a little uncomfortable now, the rush of his success sobered by his memories. Yes, they liked making him squirm. Dead wives were _so_ useful. 

“Was?” they prompted, pretending not to understand, forcing him to say it aloud. He swallowed thickly, eyes darting in their sockets, a rodent-like habit they had come to know signaled nervousness or discomfort in him.

“She died. She got sick. It happens here.” He offered them a weak little smile, no doubt trying to disguise the strength of his feelings. It was clear that the woman had been of great importance in his life- perhaps it was her fatal illness that had inspired him to seek out alchemy. Perhaps it was because of her likely needless death that he resented the sparse Ishvalan way of life. 

No matter. 

They gave him a look of confusion, twisting their deformed face as cutely as possible, as though something seemed amiss to them.

“Did you not try to bring her back?” The words were sweet on their tongue. Oh, how they _relished_ the look of shock on his face.

_What a wicked thing you are,_ said Kimblee.

“You know it’s possible, right? With alchemy?” they prompted and he sputtered weakly, like he didn't understand what was happening to him.

“I thought that was forbidden,” he said when he had managed to rein his mouth back under control, and Envy just shrugged, tilting their head to one side. “Well, yes. The Amestrian government doesn't want regular people doing it; they want to control who has power over life and death. But State Alchemists do it all the time.”

_This is terrible. Do you really think he’ll believe this?_

Of course he will.

“H-how do you know?” The poor man looked like his understanding of reality was being destroyed. His fists clutched sweatily at his robes. What a pathetic thing.

“I lived in one of their labs, remember?” They made a brief face as though the memory was painful for them. At this point, of course, Yamin knew all of Emily’s tragic backstory, and it checked out perfectly with the lies they told him now. “The State Alchemists did it there. It's pretty simple, actually.”

The flabbergasted look on his face was utterly hilarious. They could see the few feeble cogs in his mind turning, they knew exactly what he was feeling- the tight-bellied sensation that was the fear of missing out.

“So it can be done?” He was breathing heavily. “Even...after all this time?”

They nodded and then, sympathetically, put their hand on his shoulder. “I guess you didn't know, huh? But yes...you could bring her back.”

His breath smelled sour in their face and his eyes were watering. He looked like he was going to cry. The fire in the basket had gone out.

“How?”

Envy licked their lips, and began to tell him.

“Well, I remember the circle. I can show you. Otherwise all you need to do is collect a few simple ingredients…”

Later in the night, when they had left Yamin to stew on the possibilities of human transmutation, they curled in their little mat on Amala’s floor, letting Kimblee touch them everywhere from within. He gave them little sparks of pleasure in their blood, ghost hands running across their flesh, telling them how _good_ and _clever_ they were, and his happiness was very much alive in their mind. 

_I'm flattered by this, but shouldn't you be taking care of yourself, first?_

“Mm, let me be selfless for once,” they whispered into their blankets, voice soft enough so only he could hear. “Don't you want to kiss me for real?”

_Of course._

“It's settled, then.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next day Envy woke late in the morning, the sun already tipping towards noon. This was normal- with their still-healing body and late night visits to Yamin’s tent they spent a good portion of their day sleeping. What else was there to do, other than explore the Ishvalan camp? And that was a dingy and unpleasant place, in all. But today something in particular had woken them, something was amiss- the regular commotion of life in the camp was different, sped up, detectably more intense. 

Footsteps ran by outside the tent, and voices murmured in tones of excitement. Some people were shouting. Envy put themself on guard, slowly sitting up on their mat, unsteady. Should they go, and see what was happening, what was so stirring the lives of these people? Or should they wait, stay here until they knew it was safe, until they knew it was not anything…familiar. Their natural impatience, of course, won out.

Slowly and delicately, Envy dressed themself in their sweeping robes, pulling the hood down far over their face despite the summer warmth in the air. Following the directions of the vortex (people walking, pointing, looking, all of this indicating the main point of interest) they slipped from the tent, moving tentatively, pretending just to be typically curious. Passing by a laundry-laden truck, the center of the commotion came into view- there, people standing around, talking. Some expressions curious, most friendly, Yamin was not present (of course). There was the leader of the tribe, the one who had saved them- who was he talking to, shaking hands with, that tall Ishvalan with his back to them-

-who then turned, so they could see his face, disfigured by an x-shaped scar-

Envy felt their stomach turn to ice, and they desperately resisted the sudden and violent urge they had to run. They mustn't do that, it would look too suspicious. Instead, they slowly backed away, around the truck and out of sight, but even that did not ease the tense feeling in their belly, though they knew it was irrational. Irrational, for they had known, of course, that Scar might show up again here- why wouldn't he, thinking of it- but the sight was still a shock, and a warning. Had they become too complacent, too sure of themself? To think that they had to measure out their confidence now, when before they had been so certain of their abilities. But regardless of any amount of self-pity, this was a problem. What should they do? Leave the camp now- as soon as possible, they were strong enough- no, the Ishvalans would report them missing, he would know and he could catch them easily as they were. Stay? Do nothing? How could they? They felt so _anxious._

_He may not have come for you. There's no reason for him to know you’re here._

That was right, or was it? They didn't know what Scar and the other ‘heroes’ of the Promised Day had learned. For weeks their line of information had been entirely stagnated here. But Kimblee was correct- Scar could very well have nothing but ordinary Ishvalan business with this group. And in that case, their best option would be to continue in character, protected by their disfigured face and anonymity. He may not even meet them. But it was a gamble- if somehow, Mustang and the others had tracked Envy here (for they did not doubt in the slightest that they were still on some kind of ‘most wanted’ list back in Central) then playing dumb could very well kill them, and if he came with such intent there was no way they were strong enough to stop him. Now, they had to choose. Running away would save them and Kimblee if Scar was looking for them, but endanger them if he was not. Staying would protect them completely if Scar hadn't come for them, but end them if he had. The solution, they supposed, was the third option- be sneaky about it, and try to learn more.

Slowly they moved back around the truck, crouching behind a large bin of laundry to hide themself while still leaving a line of vision to the scene. Scar’s posture was surprisingly relaxed as he spoke to the other Ishvalans- well, relaxed would not be the best word perhaps, but some of the aggression usually present in his stance was absent. And he didn't seem to be looking around, eyes not scanning the crowd, that was promising. Upon closer inspection they noticed another figure standing with him- it was difficult to make out a face from within the crowd of Ishvalans, but amongst the gathered heads one carried distinctly _black_ hair, a trait that could only come from an outsider. A short black-haired person, probably a man, with Scar? Now that sounded familiar…

_This is bringing up some embarrassing memories._

The only time that Kimblee had ever lost in battle with an Ishvalan, the only time he had ever failed a mission they had given him. Who had he been looking for again, if not their pathetic ward, the Crystal Alchemist, Dr. Marcoh? And why would he be here? Their belly tingled, something in their core aching slightly, but they didn’t know why.

The figure shifted, turning more to face them and they were able to confirm their suspicion, Scar’s companion was Dr. Marcoh-

- _for real, this time,_ murmured Kimblee-

-and he was speaking, it seemed, with Amala, gesturing with his hands. Had they still possessed the strength to work the Ultimate Disguise they would have sharpened their ears to listen, giving themself canine or feline traits, but as it was they were simply forced to shuffle closer, pressing down and forward against their shield of dirty clothing. This was nerve-wracking, and undignified, but no one was looking at them, Scar had turned away. Before, they would have relished a game like this, spying and sneaking, but now the consequences of being caught were a little too harsh. So, what were they talking about-

“It would be a gesture of thanks. We are indebted to you for your work,” Marcoh was saying, smiling at Amala with his twisted face. Was that what they looked like? Probably. Eww. They still couldn't hear Scar, the summer wind carried his words away.

“It would be against our ways to accept such a thing,” Amala replied, but her expression was thoughtful. “However,” she added, “there is another. We found a young woman in Central, greatly wounded. We have been caring for her here, but there’s no way to truly heal her…”

Envy had a feeling they knew exactly who she was talking about. They were torn- on one hand, they really wished Amala wasn't drawing attention to them, but on the other- what _exactly_ was Marcoh offering, that the Ishvalans would not accept? After all, he had only ever possessed one thing of value. Was this why their insides felt so hot and strange, like they were being pulled towards something? Did he have it _on_ him? God forbid, what an idiot he was if he did.

“I'd be happy to take a look,” Marcoh was saying. “I’ll do anything I can.” He turned to Scar, his voice fading out as he looked the other way, but his gestures were clear- pointing to Amala, and then away, ‘I'm going with her for a bit’, kind of thing. Before he could turn back Envy slithered away from the laundry basket and back around the truck, crouching to avoid visibility and sneaking back towards their tent. It wouldn't do to look too attentive. But they knew now they had to stay- if Marcoh was going to do what they thought he was going to do, they very much wanted to be involved. And it was quite unlikely he would recognize them, wasn't it? At first, anyway. Long enough for them to take what they wanted. Now a wild excitement was pumping in their veins, spurred on by the tingling feeling in their core. They hadn't anticipated a chance like this, to think, gifts kept falling right into their lap! 

Hurrying back into their tent they undressed and tucked themself back under the covers, curling up and snuggling in as though they had been asleep all along, trying also to steady their breathing and the movement of their eyes. Make it convincing, as it may be the last time they were forced to act so pathetic against their will.

Now they heard footsteps approach outside, both treads recognizable from experience, voices coming back into their range of hearing. Despite their energy and the tense pull in their belly, they forced their body to relax.

“She's been staying with me,” said Amala softly. “As I said, she doesn't want the government involved...”

As the pair entered the tent Envy stirred, and then pretended to start at the sight of Marcoh, playing into the prudish Ishvalan practices regarding politeness between members of the opposite sex. Amala was quick to soothe them, making placating gestures with her hands.

“It's alright, sister. He's a doctor, he's here to help you.” They nodded slowly, averting their eyes and sitting up, pretending that they had only just awoken and were uncomfortable with the situation. Marcoh introduced himself, timidly, and it made them warm inside- they adored the uncomprehending look in his eyes; he knew not at all who they were. What things they had done to this man, and now, he was going to give them everything they wanted. At his prompting they slipping their blankets off, his eyes widening as he surveyed the damage, and they curled into themself shyly.

“It's amazing that you’re alive,” said Marcoh after a few moments of astonished prodding, sympathy coating his words. “This looks horrible. But I'm going to make it better, alright?”

Then he reached into his jacket pocket- what an absolute _fool,_ carrying something so powerful like that! Did he think no one would understand what it was? Their chest was _throbbing-_ and from it he pulled a slender glass vial. 

Within it glittered a crystallized Philosopher’s Stone, a gleaming red shard of raw and glorious power. The rest of the light in the room seemed to dim before it, weak particles with no more energy than specks from a distant sun, worthless in comparison to the flood of tortured souls contained in the tiny red jewel. Envy’s entire body was almost shaking now with need, instinctively responding to what lay before them, destroyed figure desperate for the energy in a way they had only felt vaguely before.

There was an instant where everyone in the tent sat still, Amala and Marcoh and Envy theirself frozen in wonder, the blood light catching their eyes- and then compulsively, with no regard for cleverness or subtlety or finesse, they reached out and snatched the thing from Marcoh’s feeble grasp, popping the cork with their thumb and tossing their head back to swallow the Stone in one gulp.

…

There was a moment of complete quiet, Marcoh staring at them in shock, his hand slack and still outstretched. They almost agreed with him, they were surprised with themself, too. And this was so weirdly funny- the dull-eyed look on his face was absolutely hilarious, he wasn't computing the situation at all, and they certainly would have laughed if not for the other, more important sensations running through them…

Complete and utter victory, that's what this was.

The red Stone shot through their body like a bullet, sinking into their core and expanding through their limbs with hurricane force. They couldn't sit still with it, it made them stand and stumble clumsily away from their mat, barely aware of their body’s motions, the power bubbling under their skin almost too much to control. Starting at their toes the transformation began, a pure healing heat crackling up their calves and thighs, replacing discoloured, mottled flesh and heavy scar tissue with blemishless white skin and taut muscles. As the light touched upon their hips they fabricated tight black silk there again, the design bordering on instinctual, flaring out cutely as it completed itself. How refreshing this feeling was, the power moving up their torso, their lungs expanding fully and their blood flowing naturally, the air in the tent touching upon undamaged nerves. How could they have become accustomed to it, functioning at the bare minimum, thinking that they were doing well? The pleasure of being whole again was beyond exquisite- as the effect went up their body was being completely restored, becoming denser and stronger as limbs and tails and heavy green scales settled within, ready to be pulled out at a moment’s notice- yes, they were sure that no measly human arms could lift them now! The transformation reaching their face was an almost beautiful sensation, eyes fully cleared and nasal passages thinned, tongue and teeth returned to their proper shape and sensitivity. And from their skull came new growth, which fell gently about their shoulders as the restoration was complete, their body strong and hard and bursting with fresh power.

When they looked down, almost breathless with triumph, the expression of raw horror on Marcoh’s face was too sweet to bear.

And so they tossed their head back and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.


	8. Chapter 8

“Thank you so much for your hard work, Dr. Marcoh!” 

This they purred to the shattered man kneeling before them, revelling in the destroyed look behind his eyes. It was too beautiful, too sweet- the kind doctor who sought to heal everyone with his power had unwittingly restored his enemy, brought his jailor back to full health- and with it, lost his magic forever! He would never make another Philosopher’s Stone, and what was he without that? Unable to resist, they put their foot to his chest and shoved him down, overjoyed that they could make such crude gestures now, no longer needing to hide behind a complacent human image in order to survive. They were the one with the power now, and he was the worm! They could kill him if they wanted to, punish him for his betrayal and disobedience- but they wouldn't, no, for to do it now would mean ending him in seconds, and he deserved far greater pain and misery than that. He deserved to live with the knowledge of what he'd done.

Inside them Kimblee was burning with his own pleasure, how he enjoyed them when they were like this, how aroused he could get by the sound of their laughter. They could feel their cold body tightening in response- catching a flicker of their reflection in one of Amala’s loose medicine jars, they felt such a weight lifted from their shoulders- how relieving it was, to feel young and pretty and cute again! How much easier it was to respond to Kimblee’s affections when they didn't feel so ashamed of their appearance.

And on the subject of Amala, where had she gone? Darted out of the tent during their transformation, no doubt bringing others to see. The ozone smell of a transmutation was overpowering in the air, it would attract Scar, if he had not already seen the burst of red lightning within the tent. For an instant they were tempted to fight him- drunk on their own power, hands curling into claws, wanting to rip something apart to prove their freedom- but they restrained themself. There wasn't time to party just yet- they still had work to do, and a certain thing within them was too precious to risk.

“I suppose I'll have to be going,” they said to the mewling man beneath them, flashing him a sharp-fanged smile. “Give my regards to Colonel Mustang back in Central. Tell him his god-awful fire wasn't enough to destroy Envy the Bizarre!” 

Cackling like a witch they hopped over Marcoh’s prone body and out of the tent. In a flash they saw Ishvalans gathered outside, drawn by the commotion, and there was Scar himself, his red eyes widening in recognition and rage- but it was too late, before he could even begin to reach out with his earth-rending arm they were gone, taken to the air on the wings of a peregrine falcon; the fastest beast of flight. He had no hope of catching them now. No one did. For all the humans knew, they were leaving the country, or going back to Central to finish Father’s hopeless plan. 

_That last bit was a little reckless, don’t you think?_ Kimblee said as they flew, the wind streaking underneath their wings and smoothing their feathers. _Do you really want to provoke the Flame Alchemist?_

He was right of course, but they could never resist the urge to boast a little. And they would be sure not to encounter Mustang in the flesh again, at least not for a very long time, and certainly not as they were- though a little heart-to-heart revenge might do them good-

_So bold you become, the moment things go your way._

Yes, and you love it, don’t you, Crimson Alchemist?

They landed in the forest a few miles outside of the Ishvalan camp, changing in midair to their preferred form and hitting the ground hard (as was natural, how much better they felt), their feet leaving deep imprints in the soft earth. Breathless and giggling still they collapsed there, rolling about on the grass and feeling the heat of the sun on their skin as it shone down into the glade where they lay. Their heart was beating so strongly, their cold blood pumping freely through their veins, they found themself aware with a crystal clarity of the air around them, the sweet smells and soft sensations and forest flavours on their tongue. Was this how humans felt, when they narrowly escaped death, was this what they described when they claimed to see the world anew, appreciating life fully as they hadn't before? Perhaps that sentiment did not seem as foolish to them now as it had. To think, that they had gone from such hugely different states of being in such a short period of time- only weeks ago they had been balancing on the line between life and death, pretending to fight on the losing side in an ancient war, destroyed and in horrible pain and faced with the deep and terrifying sensation that was the prospect of failure. Complete failure, unlike all of their little missteps in the past, the intentional and otherwise- death, and the death of Kimblee (which was worse), and the idea that Father might have won in the end anyway (though as time went on, that had become increasingly unlikely). And now, they were whole and full and wonderfully, miraculously, all-consumingly alive.

Yes, alive.

Unlike the others.

_Are you certain? We haven't had word, not really. If you would like, we could interrogate Marcoh, go back and find out…_

No, they knew all they needed to know. How could it be explained? They felt it somehow, deep in their core, they had felt it all along as they had felt it in the Underground during the Promised Day. It was like they had been a flower, or a fruit on a vine, unique in its own properties but aware still of what it had sprouted from- the stalk that had given birth to it and the other such flowers that bloomed along its side. They had known when those other flowers’ stems were snipped- wasn't that why Greed’s burning, way back in the months before, had been so satisfying, and why Lust’s death had bothered them so much? And now, they could tell, even the original vine was gone, sucked away into wherever such things went in death. They were alone now. The last homunculus. 

_Does that bother you?_

Kimblee’s voice was calm, scientific in their mind. It was an interesting question- they looked into themself, now still on the grass, trying to sort down to the root of their feelings on the situation. Was there sadness inside of them for the other immortals, the things that had shared their goals and lifestyle and existence for so many decades, the only creatures capable of understanding what it was to be the way they were? Did they mourn for their family?

No.

There were no tender spots in their heart, nothing that ached when they thought of it, only a faint sting deep in their core where the threads tying them to Father’s soul had been cut, and those would fade in time. No, they did not mourn, and that made sense, did it not? Of all their siblings they had only ever loved their sister, and she had been turned to ashes long ago, they had already cried for her. And as for Father- well, they had _hated_ him, increasingly so as the years went on, first cursing him for creating a creature such as they (made to suffer, to hate themself, and simultaneously to hate everyone else) and then later wishing him dead so his plan could not be completed, taking the one precious thing in the world to them in the Great Sacrifice…

Yes, they were glad he was dead. And the rest, they didn't matter. 

_I'm flattered you think me so important. A fragile and inferior mortal, so beloved by the almighty and powerful Great Serpent..._

“Don't make fun of me, Kimblee,” they growled into the grass, half-laughing behind their sharp words, marvelling at how the tall green stalks tickled their nose. The last homunculus, were they? Well then they were a marvel. The last member of a species that could not truly reproduce, brought to the brink of extinction. Did that not make them a precious thing, as rare shorebirds were that could no longer lay their eggs, or large cats seen only from a distance in deep jungles?

_Yes, you are precious, but you have always been. A great wonder of the modern world._

“It's getting embarrassing now, having you read my thoughts. We’ll have to stop that. And besides, I want to kiss you.”

Yes, they wanted to kiss Kimblee very much, hold him or be held and have the realness of his body against theirs again. They craved it suddenly, craved his gaze on their skin, they wanted him to see them with his own eyes and wanted to stroke his cheekbones with the pads of their fingers. They rolled over to look up at the sky, now calculating, examining the curve of the sun and the line of the trees, thinking of what they had seen in the air and how far they had traveled from the Ishvalan camp. 

Had Yamin done as they had requested, gone to the mining town as the Ishvalans sometimes did to fetch the ingredients for a human body? He had been eager, had he not?

(Water (35 L), Carbon (20 kg), Ammonia (4 L), Lime (1.5 kg), Phosphorous (800 g), Salt (250 g), Saltpeter (100 g), Sulfur (80 g), Fluorine (7.5 g), Iron (5 g), Silicon (3 g)... and trace amounts fifteen other elements.)

They ran their fingers through their hair and licked their lips, unable to sit still, they were eager for it, too. They could make the circle today, find a place for it, set it in the earth with Kimblee’s help. They could fetch anything the Ishvalan alchemist was likely to forget. The day was still ripe with potential.

“We’ll do it tonight.” They said confidently to the summer air in the glade, and the sound of their own voice- high and clear and cutting as it should be, not weak and broken with burns- gave them such pleasure that they curled up into themself and laughed hysterically, still feeling drunk on their own success.

Yes, they would come for him tonight. When the sun set- that was a good time for such morbid rituals, was it not?


	9. Chapter 9

In the body of a snake they approached the Ishvalan camp, the mismatched silhouettes of the tents and vehicles and laundry lines making sharp and ominous forms in the dusk light. The sun had almost set, the last orange tongues of fire dipping away into the West. The atmosphere in the camp was uneasy- people whispered and shuffled around, women and children tucked away, men gathered at the perimeters and in open doorways with watchful eyes and stoic frowns. On guard- what a joke. No one could stop them from going where they wanted, no one ever in the history of Amestris. What good were human eyes looking for strangers when they could appear as anyone, or anything? They were sure that Scar and Dr. Marcoh knew it too, knew how useless it was, probably fretting themselves mad. Desperately trying to send word to Central- but they were too far away, no one would be able to reach them for days.

In their small serpent’s body they slipped entirely unnoticed between the feet of the watchful Ishvalans, perfectly free to do as they pleased. For the fun of it they passed by Amala’s tent, where light from an oil lamp flickered, two human shapes showing through the tarp. They could hear people talking- changing the drums of their ears slightly they made it so they could pick up human words, and who was it either than the Crystal Alchemist himself, and how wonderfully broken his voice sounded. Like he was too tired, too weak in spirit to keep going anymore.

“We don't know what it wants...we don't know anything about it, really.” It? That was a little rude, that was what Greed had called them, ‘it’ like an object. A thing, because Greed had always thought in terms of things. 

(Greed didn't think anything anymore.)

And Marcoh’s helplessness was refreshing- how long had these two been talking, swapping stories, trying to reach a common core of understanding? How different their images of the situation must be- could Amala reconciliate the delicate, well-mannered and pitiful Emily with what Marcoh would describe, the cold and synthetic monster that had forced him to murder her kinsmen, refine human lives into fuel? And what could he learn of their motivations from what she had seen? He would never be able to guess. Everyone in Central probably thought Kimblee had fled the country, or even died; and indeed, that was an irrelevant fact, because no human had ever known what he was to them.

_It will be such a surprise if they ever see me again,_ Kimblee murmured, and Envy agreed- hit them with a double whammy, shall we, let them see us both born again triumphant and powerful, standing against their united force. Let them break around us as water does upon stone.

They slithered away, out of hearing range, too impatient to sit and revel in Marcoh’s misery any longer. They had business to attend to, business that would not be jeopardized. 

Far off in its lonely little corner Yamin’s tent was littered with proof of a bustling day; dusty footprints lead in and out, some of his boxes gutted and overturned outside, the flap of the tent hanging open as it never did. Sanctity violated, like a peasant woman in war. There was only one man left there now, a tough looking Ishvalan with a sash similar to Scar’s, yes, they had seen him around the camp before. He sat on an upside-down box with his arms folded and a grim expression on his face. How cute, thinking so highly of his job in jailing the good-for-nothing alchemist who had been tempted by a demon. He was a man of strict Ishvalan moral, or so they had heard, he probably felt justified in this, he would probably tell his children and grandchildren that this was one of the reasons why alchemy was forbidden; it opened your heart to evil spirits. Though, alchemist or not, they opened everyone’s heart when they wanted to.

They needed him out of the way. Should they kill him? It might make a bit of a commotion- and they wanted Yamin to come willingly, they couldn't force him to the act like Pride could have, they didn't know the technique. But there were other ways. In their serpentine skull they changed the nature of their teeth, filling the thin tubes with a rich and powerful draught, a sleeping potion capable of outing a grown man in seconds- they could make such things, their body could be just as artificial as organic, swords or guns for limbs where flesh should have been instead- and as he looked well over their head, into the lights of the Ishvalan camp, they coiled the muscles in their neck and struck. With reptile speed they sunk their fangs into his exposed ankle, pumping their fabricated poison into his veins, clamping down more viciously than a real snake would have. The act was good, quick and silent- he had time only to grunt in pain (not the kind of man to scream) and stand before the effects began to set in, his strong heart drawing the venom into itself, he didn't have the power to even kick them away before he collapsed.

Inside the tent they heard Yamin start at the sound, the heavy and messy thud that was a human body hitting the ground, and as he shuffled for the entrance to the tent they returned to their preferred form, the light flashing as subtly as they could make it in the dusk air. They left their hair, skin and eyes as they would have it, pale and sharp and inhuman, but they changed their clothes- replacing the tight and revealing image with sweeping Ishvalan robes; with this he would be more comfortable, would he not? But they couldn't bring themself to make their face as he had known it, they couldn't bear the thought of being ugly again so soon.

Yamin pulled aside the entrance to his tent with trembling fingers, his eyes darting wildly from the prone guard to their gleaming white face, and they grinned at him with sharp teeth. They adored this little man, he was so much fun to play with.

“What- what is this- who are you-” he stammered and they took him firmly by the wrist, pushing him back into the tent where sounds were easier to stifle with the ease of a child picking up a kitten. 

“It's Emily. Don’t you recognize me? I've come for you.” The inside of his tent was in disarray, mat overturned and papers scattered, muddied by boot prints. The photo of his wife was the only thing left in good condition, perhaps he had clutched it to his chest when the searching had been done. And he was hardly happy to see them- his face was stained with the marks of recent tears, his jaw slack, and he tugged feebly in their grip. They released him and he stumbled back, but he didn't try to run or leave the tent, as they had expected. For an instant he seemed to consider it, surprised that they had let him go, surprised that they stood there so calmly now, the smile on their face open and sweet.

“What did you do to Abdal?” He meant the man outside, and they stepped lightly aside to show him, pretending that the tent entry was his to use, that he could leave at any time.

“I put him to sleep,” they replied. “You can check if you want.” He made no move to. Yes, often the invitation was just as good as the proof itself, when it came to humans. But already he was relaxing some, perhaps he thought they weren't here to hurt him. How sweet.

“The others,” he began, swallowing down his fear, “the ones from Central, they said you were a demon. An artificial life form.” It was a statement, but he was asking them a question with it, it seemed that all their hard work had not gone to waste- he still trusted them, or at least he wanted to. They had been such a good friend to him, after all.

They offered him a smile, warm. “It doesn't matter what they said. It's time. Do you have what I asked you to get?”

He sputtered again, his insecurities coming through, not expecting such a direct demand. “I did, I did I swear- they took it, the doctor took it, he said he knew what it was for-” 

Did he feel guilty? Did he think he had failed them? They put their hands on his shoulders, gently, looking deep into his eyes. 

“Don't worry,” they said, as compelling as any cult of personality. “I thought that might happen. I have everything we need.” All the ingredients, yes, they had fetched them from the drug store in the mining town during the day, and a few extras- a white suit and matching hat, a pair of gentleman’s black shoes. “But we have to go.”

To their surprise he shook his head at that, shook his whole body really, as if waking himself from a trance. “No! He said it wouldn't work. He said you didn't care about me, or about Karyme-!"

He? Dr. Marcoh it must be. No matter. Yamin’s words were a delicious opportunity; still holding him they began to change, shifting their features to dark skin and flowing white hair, round, gentle red eyes. A perfect replica of the woman in the photo as she had been the day it was taken. Something in Yamin’s eyes shattered at the sight of it, and they smiled at him sweetly, letting him reach out to touch their face. He was almost crying as he cradled their chin in his palms, fingertips fluttering here and there as though he couldn't decide what he wanted to feel, given too much for too short a time.

“Please…” he said, his voice barely more than a whimper, but for what he begged they did not know. Pulling away they shifted back, letting his expression crash as the softness of his wife faded into their harsh and angular features, turning to open the tent flap, inviting.

“She’s waiting for you,” they said. 

_You’re cruel._

I know.

It took Yamin a minute to respond, his hands still outstretched to where their face had been, touching his dead wife still in his mind. “She's waiting for me…” he repeated, hypnotized by the thought of it, and it seemed for an instant as though he would do anything they asked of him. But then a strange thing happened- they hadn't been expecting this- something _changed_ in his eyes, something surprisingly _hard_ came over him, like his soul was turning to glass behind the clear red of his irises.

“But then, they said you were a liar, and a shapeshifter, too.”

Oh, so that's how it was, this was becoming tiresome now. They took him by the hand, making their expression desperate, urgency (not malice) causing their eyes to gleam. 

“How do you know _they’re_ not the ones lying? I'm doing this for _you,”_ The strength of their words was breaking him, he was cracking under their tongue, he had been crumbling from the moment they had stepped in. “Dr. Marcoh, he was a State Alchemist, and they’re exactly as I said. He _would_ lie, he doesn't want this to happen. You have to believe me- for Karyme’s sake, if not mine.”

That did it, somehow the thought was better than her face had been. Yamin seemed to collapse in on himself, all the hard edges sagging away into nothingness and defeat, his heart becoming soft and malleable again. They took him by the arm, offering a reassuring smile, and pulled him from the tent and into the woods. He followed, entranced, his hand limp in theirs, in that moment belonging to them in the entirety of his being. This was the kind of thing the Ishvalans told bedtime horror stories of to their children- inverted devils, with dark hair and fair skin, leading the weak of mind into cold and uncertain fates in the dark...

Spirited away.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was gone from the night sky as Envy dragged Yamin through the woods, allowing the darkness and the tugging of clawlike brambles on his robes to disorient him even further, making his mind weaker and more susceptible by method of exhaustion. His eyes were only human, and his body old and frail, the journey was rough on him- by the end of it he was crying outright, his palm slippery with sweat in their icy grasp, no longer even bothering to maintain a sense of decorum. This night in all might break him- there was a chance he might never recover from what they had already done to him, and what they were going to do next. But then, he had shown surprising resilience before, so who could say?

The pair emerged into the moonlight on top of a high hill where the trees cleared away, the terrain becoming flat and rocky where the grass died and tipped into a harsh and sudden cliff; from the edge of it, one could see for miles above the treeline, watch the twinkling lights of the mining town and the tops of the faraway mountains. One could also take a single misstep and go plummeting to certain mortal death, body gaining speed as it tumbled down the sheer rock face to break on the treetops below. It was here, in the barren ground of this high place, where they had carved the circle; etching it deep into the stone with claws as hard as diamond and as sharp as obsidian, ensuring that there would be no mistakes, that the transmutation would be perfect and strong. The creation of an ideal human body- one disinclined to illness, or injury, or death. 

“Here we are,” they said to Yamin, but they weren't focusing on him so much anymore. The hood of their fabricated Ishvalan robes had fallen back, their hair flying free in the rising wind, and with all of this and the way their cold skin gleamed in the moonlight they were sure they looked like a devil- or a deity- to human eyes. From a sheltered spot in the brush they pulled a bag, a heavy thing that weighed nothing to them, and they took it to the middle of the circle to begin compiling the ingredients there- salt, saltpeter, sulfur, silicon...

“Those are...what you said, right?” Yamin spoke weakly, his breath still out of control, and they ignored his question, focusing on exacting the measurements with their superior vision. He knelt with them, watching with dull eyes as they completed the task, a quiet acceptance in his demeanour.

“Why am I even here?” he asked after a while, and they shot him a sharp look in reply, their impatience starting to make them careless. 

“You're here for Karyme, of course. And I can't do this alone. I’m not an alchemist- you know that.” Yes, remind him of before, what they had been to him in the darkness of his solitary tent at night, how warm and comfortable their companionship had been then. How horrible and bizarre this day must be to him, how fast everything had happened, going to bed as normal only to wake with people tearing down the door and desecrating his home, all in the name of someone he had thought was a dear friend. And then, being dragged here, everything new and strange and out of routine...

They wet their teeth with their tongue and emptied out the last ingredient into the pile, tipping over a large jug of water to turn the chemically-scented dust into a sluice, the liquids pooling in the lines they had carved, ensuring that the transmutation would be pure.

Is this how you want it, Kimblee?

_Yes, this is perfect. I'm sure it will work out fine._

Perhaps they were being a little reckless, the two of them, human transmutation of any kind was a delicate and finicky task, but then, that was what Yamin was there for- he would swallow the risks. He would bear the brunt of the burden, as he had to, Envy had never been capable of alchemy and even with Kimblee’s soul inside them the task was beyond their powers, the well only ever drawing up empty, the energy unresponsive to inhuman hands- as animals could not perform transmutations, nor plants or inanimate objects, the homunculi could not either (beyond their particular gifts of course). But they had never cared for nor needed it before, and they did not need it now. Alchemists were often lonely things, and the lonely were always the easiest to manipulate, so who dared ever tell Envy that they couldn't get what they wanted?

Yamin sat back on the edge of the circle, still moving sluggishly, his mind and body both too tired to resist anymore. His emotions were no doubt worn thin, and he seemed to be entering the sort of mindset that humans got when beyond the point of exhaustion; the dull and passive state of acceptance, where all that was desired was for someone else to say what would happen next. It was a dangerous way to be, in the end, and a fault in the human condition that many exploited. But as he looked at the circle there was a touch of intelligence in his eyes, a degree of the scientist in him activating, finding advancement beyond anything he had ever dreamed of in his little tent within the lines and symbols they had carved. Perhaps, had the day been different, he would have asked all of the questions a true alchemist would have asked, pursued them instead of letting them fizzle out into nothing within his mind. All questions, save one, which in a last-minute need for comfort it seemed he could not resist:

“This is going to work, isn't it?” he said, his dull eyes coming up to meet theirs. Behind his irises there was a deep and ingrained grief, bubbling to the surface for all to see in his weakness, his raw emotions reaching out to them like a child would for their mother. 

“You’re not lying to me, are you?” How fragile he sounded then. This was the climactic moment of his life, all of his piteous sorrows and trials and misadventures leading here, another victim of the world, spun off course. The god Ishvala, if such a thing existed, would no doubt weep from its point in the heavens to see a sight like this. If it was supposed to be up there- perhaps they were confusing mythologies, thinking of Leto or the ancient cloud-squatting pantheons of Xerxes, such things all blended together in their mind. They were all only fabrications, poor justifications for the quality of emotions they saw flickering in Yamin’s eyes now.

“No.”

This they replied to his question, gaze meeting his evenly and without hesitation; no, they were not lying. And he believed them.

Humans were foolish to think that speaking one single word, one syllable, was somehow harder than constructing false identities or spinning webs of deception to ensnare the soul; it was strange to think that a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ was somehow harder to fake, as though the human condition made plain-faced and outright lies impossible. Scalding the tongue or flickering in the eyes, like the listener could tell when such statements were made in untruth. But they had no such qualms and nothing in them gave anything away.

So Yamin nodded, giving in, inhaling deeply through his nose and letting his eyes fill with tears again, a nectar of fatigue and sorrow and also great joy, for now he completely believed that soon he would see his beloved wife again-

-and well, who were they to claim it was a lie, one way or another perhaps he _would-_

-and he placed his palms to the edge of the circle, mirroring Envy’s position opposite him, reaching down into wherever alchemists went when they sought to do such things, and the transformation began.

White light, tinted faintly with blue, pure and clean and earth-driven as natural transmutations were. Good magic, at first.

Envy let Kimblee move forward in their body, channeling his soul through their arms and the palms of their hands (the sensation, which was almost like control, bordered on erotic), guiding the transmutation to his specifications. He blocked Yamin’s weaker will from the circle with his calm steel force, pushing aside the other man’s vision of dark-skinned and delicate womanhood, for such a dream was vague and fragile and likely to convolute itself anyway; _he_ knew what he was supposed to look like, his mind’s eye had always been clearer than most, and this image was what he imposed upon the transmutation to make the generic ingredients reshape themselves into the desired form. Envy could feel the stone ground heating up beneath their body, Kimblee swirling wildly through their bloodstream, the tension in the air rising, crisping, the world narrowing down to the top of the hill and nothing more, everything beginning to taste a little of lightning, stretching to the point where the energy could not sustain itself without breaking-

-and when it did, the light turned red.

Envy heard Yamin cry out over the roaring of the earth and wind, the terrible rejection from nature of what was occurring there- the light shone too brightly, strong and evil light, as red as their heart was and redder than human blood. They couldn't see well, but they also couldn't lift their hands to cover their eyes, their palms were stuck to the stone and the air around them seemed to be burning, the ozone smell overpowering and searing on their tongue. Dark hands reached up from the ground, grasping feebly at the overcharged air, undulating like plants from the bottom of the ocean, boneless and insane. They could feel Kimblee rigid inside them, holding on tight to the energy to prevent it from bucking out of his control, from exploding the way he usually wished. It was strange how they felt almost helpless here, they had never stood so close to a transmutation, never really been a part of one, not like this-

The Gate opened in the rockface before them, taking the shape of the Great Eye, staring mindlessly up at the night sky and reflecting in the moon overhead. What toll would it demand from the alchemist? They could have chosen to waive it, using their core instead, but why would they waste something so precious and time-consuming to create to spare him? Let him see what it would show him, and take what it would. They saw the arms reach for Yamin, given sudden direction and purpose, taking him in to wherever it took those people and the pressure in the air now was almost suffocating.

In the next few moments the world became a wash before their eyes, blurring to sparks of grey and red without shape or distinction, the energy too much now for even their mind to compute. It took everything they had not to pass out, Kimblee holding down the transmutation by only a thread. Was it working? Was everything forming as they wanted it to? They had no way of knowing, they hadn't thought that the experience would be this _intense-_

And in the same instant it was over, the heat and light and terrible power suddenly cut out, the Eye sealed back into its other plain of existence and the grasping dark fingers gone, all the light and sound reverting back into nature as nature would have it. 

Their breathing was heavy in their ears and they were half blind, the brightness leaving imprints on their eyes, the ground cooling rapidly beneath their palms. Kimblee was shaking similarly inside them, his soul somehow reverberating against their core. Yamin was silent.

They blinked rapidly to clear their vision, standing clumsily to stumble forth, reaching for the center of the circle for what they had made there…

Kimblee?


	11. Chapter 11

Envy’s cold fingers reached out through the lightning-stung air, grasping for purchase in the rock, moving forward until they came into contact with soft skin. Bare human skin, slightly warm, that was a wrist they were touching- reaching along it they entwined their fingers between those that they felt, and yes, that made their heart jump in their chest because it was exactly how they remembered; or almost exactly, too slack, that familiar hand not grasping back as it should have.

And now the moonlight was coming through properly again, their eyes were clearing off the stains and sparks from the transmutation, readjusting to the dark so they could better see. They trailed their hands up the bare chest of the doll lying in the circle, admiring how accurate it was, how the muscles were the same as those they had touched during the intimate moments of so many nights before. Adoring how the shoulders connected down into the collarbones in exactly the same way, an identical precise curve. The skin the same texture, the same temperature. They ran their hands through its hair, silky and clean black locks, stroked its eyelids and strong cheekbones with the pads of their fingers. It was an exact replica, and living too, they could feel its steady resting heartbeat and soft breathing and the unhindered rush of blood flowing through its veins. Alive but soulless, needing still to be filled.

“It's _perfect,_ Kimblee,” they purred, unable to stop touching it, letting their hands run everywhere like wild horses, their eyes catching on different patches of skin, little marks here and there, the exact and ingrained black tattoos on its palms. Though- and they caught this as their gaze flickered over the lines on its face, there was something slightly off- was this thing not more accurate to the Kimblee from Ishval, dare they say it, even from slightly _before_ the war, not yet weathered by time and prison and loss?

“Made yourself a little younger, did you?” they teased.

_You're one to talk. How old are you, now? 177? Ancient thing, lecherous crone._

They tossed their head back and laughed outright at that, now straddling the naked Kimblee-doll, looking every part a witch from legend- somewhere, during the transformation their hold on the Disguise had slipped, reverting to what was most natural for them, they no longer wore the sweeping Ishvalan robes but rather their preferred, cute outfit instead, which made their combined image under the cold moon much more sensuous. The sound of their amusement caused Yamin, forgotten until just then, to stir- he shuffled on the grass and made a strange wet coughing sound, like his lungs were full of mucus, or blood. 

“Karyme…” he rasped, it was a wet and choked sound, and they giggled dumbly at him, noticing with some interest that all of his limbs were still intact- the Gate must have taken something from within, then. He was trembling, looking up at them with such uncomprehending eyes, tongue and teeth slick with blood and gaping like a fish. His fingers scrabbled across the rocks towards them, searching for something that was not there. He said his wife’s name again, like a broken record player, despair beginning to curl into his words as the realization of what must have happened started to settle into his mind.

“Sorry,” they cooed to him, their tone not sorry at all. “It's not what you wanted. But you have to understand, right? You would never have gone through with it if you knew it was _my_ lover we were bringing back from the dead.”

Yamin’s body started to shake more, releasing hacking wet sobs that brought floods of dark and clotted blood to his lips, strings of it clutching to his chin. They rolled their eyes at him, already becoming disinterested in his pain, it was so typical and expected. And besides, the task was not complete- it was their turn to do the work, now. They could feel their body hardening in preparation for what was to come, muscles tightening, getting ready to accept the pain. They touched the doll’s warm chest again, comforted by the feeling of its heartbeat, and inhaled.

“You ready for this, Kimblee?'

_Whenever you are._

Envy bent over the doll, cupping its expressionless face gently with their hand, and closed their eyes. Reaching in, deep inside, to the core of their being for this next task. They didn't know the technique for this specifically- but they knew it was possible, just like anything was possible, they had seen Father do it again and again and he had never flinched. All they had to do was visualize it properly, what they wanted to have happen, and it would be enough.

It's my Stone, I can do what I want with it.

Yes, even break the thing in half.

They could see it in their mind’s eye- round, whole and glistening, connected by so many flesh-like tubes into their body, lighting up the darkness of their insides. They envisioned the divide, forcing the image onto reality and then it happened, oh God it was _excruciating_ this pain as they carved themself in two, bone-rending as the shocks of it went through their body, but the horrible feeling was nothing to what Mustang had done to them- a candle in the face of that inferno. So they held on through it, it was terrible but it wasn't so bad, and after all, they were doing it for love- or some other silly reason like that.

The second half of the divided Stone was unwilling to drag itself away, strings clinging stickily to their insides, but they forced it out of their chest and onto their tongue, snapping all the remaining ties ruthlessly. This part had never been theirs to keep originally, all the souls were from Marcoh’s little crystal- and Kimblee was there as well, of course. 

Now the pain of the act was fading, leaving them with a cold and slightly empty feeling in their chest, not only for the split but because they couldn't really feel Kimblee inside anymore, gathered as he was on the tip of their tongue. Gently, for now their breathing came easier, they bent down and pressed their lips to those of the doll, kissing it deeply to pass the power over joint tongues, letting it break contact with their body forever.

Envy moaned a little into the slack mouth, now opening their eyes to watch its face, breathless and suddenly afraid- they couldn't hear Kimblee inside them anymore, they had no way of talking to him, how would they know if he was not alright? What if something had gone wrong, what would they do, what could they possibly do now without him-

Behind closed lids Kimblee’s eyes flickered, and suddenly his mouth was pressed up against theirs, kissing them back, and the feeling of it filled them with such a rush of inescapable joy they almost cried. His arms were wrapping around their waist, running over the hard muscle of their belly and back, pulling their pelvis to his so they could feel him becoming aroused, the kiss a fierce and deep entanglement of tongues. Reaching up with strong, real fingers- and that was the miraculous part of it, that they were so physical after all this time without that contact- he gathered a fistful of their hair and pulled it; willing, they let their head roll back (he was not strong enough to actually move them, no one was save maybe their dead little brother Sloth, the imitation of the act had to be enough) and he lavished their throat and jaw bones with burning lips and scraping teeth, releasing a flood of breathy noises from their mouth.

Yamin was sobbing a little off to the side- how obscene it was, breaking his heart and destroying his trust and then putting on a display like _this,_ wanton longing and serpentine entanglement and desperate reunion. But they couldn't help themself even if they had wanted to, it felt so good, having Kimblee there with them again, and they were very seriously considering shedding the last of their constructed clothes like snakeskin and being with him right then and there, letting the cold moon and the dying man on the rocks be a witness to their victory. Kimblee certainly wanted it, his fingers prying up under the waistband of their shorts and picking at the seam of their top, fluttering everywhere, unable to stop touching as he had in their mind only now it was all _real_ and he was physically there and that made everything so much better. 

But a sound suddenly caught in their sharp ears, other than Yamin’s broken crying and the erotic noises of their coupling and the expected blanket of night ambiance in the woods- a disturbance. Something was coming, something not designed for passing naturally through the terrain, an inelegant human approach. Yes, that would make sense, they weren't truly so far from the Ishvalan camp, the red light of the transmutation would have been visible from there against the blackness of the sky, and those familiar with alchemy would have known exactly what it was.

They peeled their head away from Kimblee’s and sighed, and he gripped more tightly to them with curiosity in his flat blue eyes, no longer able to read their thoughts to answer his questions. “What is it?” he asked, and his voice was perfect too, exactly as they remembered it. They smiled at him, sharp teeth, running their fingers over his kiss-swollen lips, admiring how the Stone had changed his body to better suit it; still as he was, but also more like they were, whiter and harder and glittering in the cold light. Immortal, or nearly, his heart was made of the Red Stone now, and he had power beyond any human imagining.

“We have some company,” they purred, looking into the dark trees with powerful eyes, and Kimblee gripped their thighs firmly with his hands, the tattoos designed for killing pressed into their flesh. He smiled up at them, entirely radiant with his skin glowing and his hair loose around his shoulders, the image of the man he had been in Ishval- free, and full of power, like a god capable of choosing who lived and who died. The conductor, was what he would say, what he had always called it.

“Then we should give them a proper welcome,” he replied.


	12. Chapter 12

Envy adjusted the buttons on Kimblee’s new suit, and his tie, and ran their fingers through his ponytail but mostly they were just holding him, pressing their bodies together under the moon and entirely unwilling to let him out of their grasp. In the relatively short amount of time it had taken him to get dressed the procession of people from the Ishvalan camp had come within human sensory range- their footsteps and the tug of brush on their clothes could be heard from here, and orange torchlight flickered between the trees. It seemed they were hurrying, and to Envy’s sharper ears some conversation could be made out, murmurs of fear and anger and concern. Scar was there, they knew, and so was Marcoh. Interestingly Yamin made no attempt to call out for help, no effort to escape and follow the lights back to his people- did he think they would not accept him, after what he had done here tonight? Would they believe he had done it all entirely of his own free will? Perhaps he was right. Or perhaps he was simply catatonic with despair, not thinking to save himself because he could not think at all, reaching the depth of misery that some humans did when they were completely betrayed, and had nothing left to live for. Whatever. He didn't matter anymore. There was no value in a broken toy, he had already served his purpose.

“What shall we do with the Ishvalans?” cooed Envy in Kimblee’s ear, nipping the tender flesh there with white fangs, envisualizing smoke and death akin to the great extermination in Ishval; it was Kimblee’s youthful face that was making them think this way, some of their happiest times together had been during that war- and what better way was there to celebrate his rebirth than with a reenactment of it?

“Finish the noble task you gave me,” said Kimblee softly, and they knew he was thinking the same, he never liked to leave anything incomplete, it rankled him somehow to have a messy work history. Perhaps he thought also of his failed mission to collect Marcoh and kill Scar; they knew that had been a sore spot for his pride, and they were more than eager to help him satisfy his ego, bloodlust in their veins spiking.

“But we should also be careful,” Kimblee added, and they gave him an exaggerated frown, nuzzling up under his chin. He chucked at them. “They’ve beaten us both quite surely in battle before.” 

Envy knew he was right, but they were still raring to go, all of the excitement and arousal of the evening darkening in their body to a killing need. All of the hard work and pain was over with now, they had Kimblee back, they had themself back for that matter, and they were completely free- free from the responsibilities of Father’s plans, free from the life they had led for all of the years (so many years, more than one human lifespan) that had brought them here. The possibilities of where to go next, it seemed, were endless- they had never been the decider of their own fate before, not really, and the liberation of it was wildly exciting. They wanted to _play._

“I just want to have a little fun,” they purred to him, and he squeezed their waist and kissed their forehead and as he did so the first of the torch-bearing Ishvalans from the forest emerged onto the rocky outcrop, shouting at the sight of them, and Envy turned their gaze from their lover to meet the group, lips peeling back instinctively into a wolflike snarl.

“You!” 

It was Scar that spoke, his hands curled into fists and his muscles clenched. He was looking at Kimblee with such hatred, such righteous anger in his eyes- and the disfigurement that crossed them, the x cutting through his brows and cheekbones, who was it again that had placed it there? It was well-matched that he should meet Kimblee with such intent, they were a fitting pair, one a civilized city-man and the other a desert barbarian- but both destroyers, more alike than different in the end.

Marcoh, who stood behind Scar, let his eyes flicker between the two inhumans (or barely humans) with a strange expression on his face that turned into something like understanding; his lips parted to form a little ‘oh’, unheard from where they stood, and the look in his eyes was disturbed, but not afraid. What did he think he knew, the human fool? Envy growled deep in their chest, scales bubbling under their skin.

“Good evening, everyone,” said Kimblee to the crowd, every inch a gentleman, refined and polite and proper. “It's a lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?” No one made any effort to reply.

The other gathered Ishvalans- for there was quite a group, all men with strong arms and many with sashes- whispered to each other, unsure perhaps of their purpose here. It was clear that many of them recognized Kimblee as Scar did, and their eyes were filled with some mixture of hatred and fear. He was quite accomplished, wasn't he, no doubt the vision of him appearing atop a building in one of Ishval’s dusty cities was a nightmare for many of them. But they weren't going to be outshone. And there were others- younger men, some of them little more then babes- who did not have quite the same level of reverence. They would show these humans who was on top of the world; if nothing else, they would prove themself tonight, for it could certainly be said that they loved doing that- even if, occasionally, at their own expense.

“Hey!” they called, unable to keep a bit of a giggle from their voice. “All of you gathered back there, do you know why you’re here? Did they tell you who we are?”

Scar glared at them terribly when they said that, the veins in his arms bulging, and Kimblee let out a soft little laugh. The Ishvalans whispered amongst themselves, the fire from their torches dim compared to the moonlight, which seemed an eerily perfect stream of iridescent white, clearer than the average nights that had come before it. The humans were afraid. A great big mob of brutal men, ascending the mountain to face evil under the stars, and not one of them had the stomach nor the power to deal with it.

“Really? _None_ of you know who we are?” they shrieked, their voice coming loose at the hinges, unbalanced and insane. Scar took a step forward, raising his destructive arm and cracking his knuckles, closing the gap between the two groups on the cliff.

“Speak if you will, monster,” he said, his voice deep and commanding. “Have your peace before I send you to your maker.”

Now that was especially funny, the serious way he had said it and the words he had used. Their maker was dead, had he not seen to that? Or did he truly believe that something like them was mastered by some kind of god? And he wouldn't succeed, anyway. He had little hope of taking them both together.

“I want everyone back there to listen closely! I want you all to know who has triumphed over you tonight!” They felt crazy as they said that, wildness pumping in their veins, like they were intoxicated on some kind of high-level stimulant, purple smoke inhaled from pearl pipes or crystal powder injected in human veins. They took a step back from Kimblee and made a mocking bow to him, holding one hand out to gesture to his elegant stance, his regal but unassuming posture. A gentleman, a nobleman, really. And he was looking at them with such a sweet, adoring expression in his eyes. 

“This is the Crimson Alchemist! He was one of the leading State Alchemists in Ishval, awarded for his initiative, creativity, and _body count._ I'm sure many of your friends and family members were _blown to smithereens_ under his talented hands!” The Ishvalans looked disturbed, some faces defiant and others fearful, but they weren't done yet. As they said the next part they met Marcoh’s gaze deliberately, smiling at him wickedly, as this was for him. “And now by me he has been rendered _immortal,_ and doubly powerful, so you can rest assured that his work isn't over yet!”

Marcoh’s eyes widened quite impressively as the implications of what they had said settled in, and he reached out to Scar as though he wished to pull him back, suddenly fearing they had bitten off more than could be chewed, but Envy kept talking; their voice carried inhumanly loud over the heads of the crowd, cutting the wind into ribbons. They stood straight again, and put their hands to their own chest.

“And I am the Great Serpent, _Invidia,_ Envy the Bizarre! I'm the one who started the extermination! _I destroyed Ishval!”_ Not alone of course, and not inherently by their own choosing- it had been just another part of Father’s plan- but it was so satisfying to behave this way, to see how humans’ expressions changed. Honesty was just as much fun as deception, under the proper circumstances.

And Scar by now looked borderline insane with rage, his fists were shaking and his jaw was tight, and he took another step closer, trying to regain the cold executioner’s attitude he had possessed before.

“It is good that you have confessed,” he said through clenched teeth, his voice trembling under the weight of his anger. “But for those crimes you do not deserve the chance to pray.”

He raised his palm, his muscles visibly tight in preparation for slamming it into the ground and Envy opened their mouth to say something- some thoughtless poison, they knew not what- and the world was suddenly rocked with the force of a terrible explosion- but it had not been Scar’s, Kimblee had been too fast for him.

The transmutation ripped through the stoney ground with earthshattering violence, rending even the air in pieces with the sheer power of it; splitting tree trunks and crushing rocks and turning the right-side up upside down. Remaking the natural world that had been as it was for centuries into a new image. Screams of human fear and pain accompanied the roaring of destroyed terrain, the sounds of limbs torn away and bones squashed like the exoskeletons of insects, of death and unrecoverable mutilation. It was a perfect imitation of any day in Ishval, save the chill in the north wind. It was beautiful, exactly what they had always wanted; or rather, did they not describe instead the look on Kimblee’s face as he beheld it?

Before the world could stop shaking Envy changed themself, skin twisting into scales and spine elongating, human jaw thrusting forward to become a snout, hands contorting into claws- and as the dust cleared they coiled themself elegantly around Kimblee, their figure now that of a tremendous Xingese dragon. A serpent, like they had said, but a little prettier than their true self- and, more importantly, also capable of flight. An enchanting (and terrifying) sight they were sure.

They let out an inhuman scream over the ruined hilltop, like the wail of a banshee, releasing all of their crazed and wanton emotions with a fury fitting of their inner nature- the sound was loud enough for even Kimblee to cringe a little, putting one hand to his ear and giving them an exasperated look which easily melted into satisfaction as he gazed out upon his handiwork.

Most of the Ishvalan men must have died. There were bits of human scattered everywhere, fragments of skin and bone peeking out from cracks in the ground or underneath overturned rocks, blood staining the earth. Those that did breath did so weakly, brokenly, there were only a few of them and many would not live to see the sunrise, their injuries too great to maintain. Drifting forwards with their huge maned head and opalescent eyes they surveyed the wreckage for familiar faces; Scar was unconscious and bleeding in multiple places, no matter, let him live or die as he would. But Marcoh, yes, they wanted to spare Marcoh, and Yamin too- he was behind them, safe from the conelike radius of Kimblee’s explosion. Those two men were much alike, both spineless and pathetic little creatures, alchemists that Envy had whipped to their will. Both men that would suffer greatly to be the survivors of an event like this, like kind that would blame themselves for what had happened, that would be consumed with guilt and misery for the rest of their lives. They wanted those two to live, for such an end was a thousand times more satisfying than a simple death. A sadistic little bitch, Greed used to call them that when he was especially struck by their actions- it was what he would say if he could see them now. And there, Marcoh was trying to lift himself from the rubble, bleeding from his temple and cradling a crushed hand- but otherwise fine, that was good, exactly how they wanted it. His deformed face stared up at them, his whole body fitting within the shadow of their dragonine head, and his expression was strangely devoid of emotion. Perhaps the situation hadn't registered fully to him yet. Or perhaps he was accepting of it all, understanding how futile it was to be angry with them. Had he thought that because he had seen them naked and weak- kept in a jar like an exotic pet- that they were of no consequence, that their actions were forever invalidated from that moment on? No. They wouldn’t be trifled with. They were now the oldest being in existence on the physical plane, and they would not be humiliated again. Perhaps, to amuse themself, they would spite him some more.

Turning away they curled through the air back to Kimblee. It was fun being in this shape, moving through the empty space like a fish would in water, swimming through the sky. And they could do it despite being so dense, and so strong, appearing to weigh nothing when they weighed so much, it was a marvellous deception. When they reached him he patted the thick and iridescent fur along their chin, smiling at them as he always did (his expression never changed, no matter what they looked like). Yamin, still alive (whatever organs had been ripped from him in the transmutation would be survivable without, his insides would rearrange themselves as necessary, the Gate would never take a life as a toll- though it would make the remaining life into one of great suffering), was mumbling something to himself, he was of little consequence, the sound simply adding to the orchestra of moans and whimpers and crumbling rock permeating the air around them. Kimblee turned his head, mild and curious, the palms of his hands- which had created this spectacular mess of death and destruction just moments before- exploring the gleaming green scales of their throat.

“Where to next?” he asked, and the question was a potent one, though they had an immediate answer.

“To the camp,” they replied, their words distorted by their shape, a sound like many human voices at different pitches all speaking at once. “I want to destroy it.”

They wanted to leave nothing for these survivors to go back to. They wanted to put a scourge in the land here, to prove that they had existed, that they had won. It would make the humans hate them, of course, but they would be feared as well. Too many of those in Central had seen them in unflattering positions; they wanted to be remembered as a powerful and beautiful creature, capable of great evil and worthy of being considered a foe, not a disgusting little worm, a helpless and pathetic thing. They were ashamed of that.

They lowered themself to hover just inches from the ground, slithering forward to bare their back to Kimblee, answering his unspoken question- and to the gesture Kimblee laughed, openly and with a touch of charmed surprise, and he swung his leg over their spine to straddle their thickly muscled body, his hands gripping their mane.

“I didn't know I was going to be riding today,” he said with the attitude of a horsemaster, though his posture was unsteady on their serpentine back. “I would have worn something more appropriate.”

To tease him they shook their head a little, the muscles in their back writhing, letting him startle a bit and clutch them tighter. But when they flew they did it gently, sliding through the air like an eel, making the undulating of their body as smooth as they could. Now, as the ground descended beneath them, pulling into the distance and shrinking to a toylike appearance they could tell Kimblee was enjoying himself- that was right, it was the first time he had flown, wasn't it? This was what humans dreamed of, both in wake and sleep. The beauty of the moment was not lost on them; the night sky was clear and speckled with brilliant stars, the moonlight a pure and bright white light illuminating the treetops beneath them with a cold grace. Kimblee’s body was warm on their back, and they loved him, and they were free.

When the Ishvalan camp came into view they were eager to unleash some violence of their own- from deep within the pit of their stomach they pulled fire, breathing it onto the flammable tents with huge and belching roars (drawing on different mythologies for the nature of their body, they knew, but they didn't care). They swiped back and forth across the camp like this a few times before landing, to ensure that the entire thing was burning, burning like they had burned, consider it to a degree an act of _revenge._ Women screamed and babies cried, human bodies rushing into crowded streets, the untidy infrastructure now working against the Ishvalans as they trapped themselves in piles of panic, easily snapped at by Envy’s huge jaws or crushed by a strike of their tail. It was rather childish of them they knew, stomping around in a playground and knocking over the little houses of sticks, but it was fun anyway. It was exactly the kind of release they had been looking for. Kimblee helped some, his explosions setting off delightful cascades of sound amongst the symphony of screams and destruction, but mostly he just watched, letting them enjoy themself. It was a messy thing, this, as messy as the act up on the hill- there could be survivors, and there would be literal tons of evidence, it was rather unlike all of their previous operations which had relied on precise execution and cleverness, often overseen in recent years by the cold and calculating rage of Wrath. But there were no tricks here, no strategy. It was blatant and ridiculous and unimaginably fun.

They were out of breath by the time it was over, feeling the exhaustion of a good workout setting in, and the light in the sky was changing almost imperceptibly to reflect the coming dawn. All of the humans had stopped screaming, their bodies squished under Envy’s taloned feet and bare belly, and the fire had started to settle down, only burning in a few places where there was still fuel to kindle. Kimblee walked through the wreckage as a wealthy tourist would a flower garden, his hands in his pockets and his white suit surprisingly unstained by blood or soot. He made such a fine image, their heart swelled at the sight of it. It was easy to remember how they had fallen in love with him. They felt they were doing it all over again now.

Seeming to sense their change of mood he looked up at them, that familiar easy smile on his face. They wanted to live with him forever.

“Are you happy now?” he asked.

Yes. Yes, they were very happy, now.


	13. Epilogue

Envy took a menu from the stand on the table, flicking it over immediately to the dessert page. To their left, the Cretian countryside rushed by, fields and forests appearing like paintings from the window in the dining car of the train. They were seated with Kimblee at a couple’s table in first class, their fare and a degree of respect paid for by false coins, alchemical counterfeits made from silverware. Alchemy as a whole was a much less developed science in Creta than in Amestris, and so the forgery was very simple. It was a wonderful place to take advantage of.

The finely dressed (but ugly) hostess in the dining car was staring at Envy sideways, turning her head so it was not obvious that she was observing openly, as good servants were trained to. What had drawn her attention? They looked the way they liked, with the long green hair and violet eyes, but they had changed their clothes some, giving themself a black jacket and long pants. But the jacket was unzipped and underneath it their top was as it usually was, and so from some angles the hard white flesh of their belly was visible- and of course, they were barefoot on the plush carpeted floor. Maybe it was these things, or maybe it was that they were clearly speaking in an Amestrian tongue, which, the further West they traveled, became less and less common.

“Order anything you’d like,” said Kimblee to them (no one was giving him any funny looks- he had picked up a suit in Cretian fashion at their last stop, and now looked the spitting image of a wealthy local man) in an off-hand matter, his eyes browsing intently a Cretian newspaper that had been left in their sleeper. He had developed a habit of it lately- he had told them that the language and Amestrian carried many similarities, and that it was interesting to him to try and decipher the words. Envy didn't understand a lick of it, and the menu had no pictures, so they were tempted to order one of everything sweet just to make the hostess even more uncomfortable. They had been playing around like that quite a lot in recent days, little tricks with no purpose other than their amusement. It was very refreshing.

“You might have to make more money if I do,” they purred, and Kimblee just smiled at them. Coyly they entwined one leg with his under the table, liking the way that the hostess blushed, before turning back to the window. “Or maybe we could steal some,” they added, their tone conspiratorial, letting anyone capable of understanding in the vicinity listen in. “That would probably be better for the country’s economy in the long run.”

Kimblee folded his paper and looked at them directly, raising one eyebrow.

“You're mischievous tonight. Did something happen?”

Envy grinned at him, twirling one strand of their hair between their fingers.

“Maybe I'm just in a good mood.”

_Six Months Earlier_

A red dawn was rising in the eastern sky, the horizon stained with smoke from the wreckage of the Ishvalan camp. The forest was quiet, empty of birdsong, as though nature itself had been scared into silence.

Envy curled in Kimblee’s arms, sleepy, their head resting in the hollow of his throat. They were very relaxed, but still the world burned behind their eyes, all the possibilities for mischief and destruction stampeding in their mind. 

“So where do you want to go next? Since you already asked me,” they said, running their hands over his chest (they couldn't stop touching- he had teased them about it earlier, it was still amazing to them to feel his body again). “Back to Central? We could mess with some of your old war buddies. Or we could look for more of these Ishvalan slums- that would be fun, finish what we started, and all that.”

Kimblee hummed into their hair, contemplative, one finger tracing small circles on their back. He took pleasure from the same things they did, whatever he had to say would be worth it for sure. But the silence, for some reason, was long...

“I think we should leave Amestris."

“What?”

They sat up, propping themself upright on one elbow to look down at him. Kimblee’s expression was perfectly calm and neutral, the faint light of a smile touching only barely upon the curve of his lips. “What do you mean?” they asked, somehow feeling that they had heard him wrong, even though they knew they hadn't.

“Exactly what I said. We shouldn't stay here. It would be very dangerous- soon, everyone will be looking for us. It's quite risky, even for…the sorts of things we are.”

Envy just stared at him, ignoring his attempt to balance their ego, and he stroked their hair soothingly, winding his fingers through the thick strands.

“And besides...what reason have we to stay? What's holding us here?”

Envy thought about that for a moment. It was true, what he said- but the concept of it seemed almost inconceivable. Their whole life had been spent within the borders of the country, their every goal and plan situated around its development and its people. The range of places within it- the many different cities and villages and cultures- had always been a wide enough world for them. It was a little frightening to think of leaving- Amestris was a tiny country compared to some on the continental maps, and the world maps were huger again! It made them feel small, one being in comparison to all of that, how could they make themself feel important in a world so vast? Perhaps these emotions were leftovers from Father’s soul, the creature that had sought to make himself the greatest being in the universe, or maybe it was just their regular insecurities back at work. They hated feeling small. But if they ignored it, there was something exciting about the proposition, wasn't there? And in a sense, if they went through with it, would they not truly be _larger_ than their siblings and the others that had come before- with more of the world caught in their eyes, more paths marked by their footsteps, more lives touched by their hands, they would surely be a greater being in the tapestry of time. This all scared them, but they found themself wanting to face it anyway. A strange feeling- surely, they had been a coward before. And now new ambitions were blooming in their mind.

“Alright,” they said, and their voice seemed to tremble against their will, and so they corrected it. “Alright. Let's go. Let's go to the edge of the world.”

They knew not if such a place actually existed- they had read that cartologists of the current times considered the world to be round, a circle unending- but in old myths of Xerxes, and even from the days of Amestris when they had been quite young, people had spoken of it; great waterfalls that poured into the night sky, or cliffs that fell away into Hell. The sun dragged by a man in a chariot through the Underworld, which was filled with snakes, and the souls of the putrefied dead. They did not really believe that such stories were real, but they did not disbelieve them either (if the mysterious Gate could exist, and monsters born from it with nails sharper than anything else on earth, or impenetrable skin, or shadows for limbs, or the ability to change form- why could such other things not exist, as well?) and they certainly wanted to see, one way or the other.

Kimblee kissed their forehead, relaxing some beneath them, perhaps thinking he would have to argue more for their agreement. Were they so temperamental? Well, yes, but they knew he liked it, too.

“Since we’re trading tasks,” he said, “you can pick the direction. East or West? Or North or South, I suppose. I think we’ll get more out of it with the first two.”

Envy cuddled into him and pursed their lips, considering. He was right again, of course, it would be more in their interest to take the ‘left’ or ‘right’ of a world map. Which option was more preferable? Taking the east route was closer, over the desert and into Xing, but they found they didn't much like the idea. The whole area was soured by thoughts of the nasty little princess who had kept them in a jar, how disagreeable that event had been, and the people of that country seemed to have some kind of particular awareness of supernatural entities like them- if safety was the concern, perhaps that choice was not the best. And they knew very little at all of the countries in the West, only that there were a good deal of them in varying sizes, and that their alchemy was reportedly underdeveloped in comparison to their machines. 

“West, then,” they said into Kimblee’s chest. Now they were determined. “As the crow flies we can be out of Amestris by this time tomorrow.”

“No rush,” he told them with a slight humour in his voice. “Consider this a vacation of sorts, why don't we?”

_Later, Six Months and a Day_

The train in Creta had stopped for an hour to do maintenance at a small outpost in a rural village. Envy had been sure to make their displeasure known to the officials- playing the rich and easily disgruntled tourist was a lot of fun- but really they didn't care. The day was too nice to spend sitting for any extended period of time. And there were people here, more new people, new opportunities to be had. They took Kimblee’s hand and went into the village in search of mischief, pleased by all the attention they received from the local poor for their strange appearance, liking to imagine that the men appreciated it and that the women were made jealous. The grass felt good between their toes.

“How much further to the ocean, would you say?” they tossed at Kimblee over their shoulder, and he snorted at them in a very _un_ refined manner, taking off his hat to fold it against his breast. This was a question they posed often, not because they cared about the answer but because they wanted to say it. They had become somehow even more impulsive, as of late.

“Oh, a good ways yet,” replied Kimblee, and the way his hair blew about in the summer wind was incredibly appealing. Everything today was appealing- the blush of the old local woman as they bared their legs, the smell of hot metal in the engine, the colour of the clouds in the sky. They breathed deeply, and as they did so a bothersome little thought worked itself to life in their brain- _were they not lucky to be alive?_

Not that again. They still hadn't gotten over it all quite yet- even now, when they had been healed for longer than they had been hurt, with Kimblee longer than they had been apart, they felt overly aware of the changes in their situation. Whenever they felt the air on their skin they remembered how they had felt when it had been burned, whenever they looked to the horizon they remembered being blinded, whenever the floors creaked under their steps they remembered what it was like to be weightless. It was like they had been party to some kind of miracle. Underneath their (often false) front of superiority they were amazed that they had made it out on top, when no one else had, none of their siblings or Father or their minions or even a good number of the opposition, who had fought so hard and so bravely. It itched in their brain, it didn't feel right. Mostly they could ignore it, keeping themself busy with other things, living entirely in the moment like an animal- but lately, in the dark of night, they became unhinged, the world seeming entirely unreal before their eyes, unable to understand how disgusting little Envy was the winner, over anyone else. Seeing things that were not there, other futures that had never come to fruit. Kimblee had called it ‘imposter syndrome’, what a little irony that was, that they should feel that way when they weren't even pretending to be someone else. 

But why not?

Really, why not- they could take pride in this, couldn't they, they had been trialed and found worthy. Everything that they had been through was not a lie- they hadn't cheated, not really, one couldn't cheat at life. They had made it, even if no one else had, and nothing could take that away from them. They deserved all of the happiness and comfort that had come their way, they had won, and that made them genuinely spectacular. A wonder of the modern world, like Kimblee said! And he thought of these things too, didn't he, how would he have put it? There was something he said quite often.

Survival of the fittest, yes, that was it. 

Well, they were the fittest now. Both of them.

Envy squeezed Kimblee’s palm a little, and their heart skipped.


End file.
